


Figure It Out

by aprms



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia Martin, Banshee Lydia Martin, Detective Stiles, Eventual Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Jordan Parrish & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski Fluff, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski Smut, Lydia-centric, Martinski Detective Agency, Minor Scott McCall/Malia Tate, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Roommates, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9880799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprms/pseuds/aprms
Summary: Future fic, AU. There's a new threat in Beacon Hills, and the Martinski Detective Agency are on it, like always. Only problem is, Lydia can't stop dreaming about Stiles, and it's driving her to distraction. OR: Stiles and Lydia can't seem to focus on the case. Stydia, some Scalia.





	1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place in the future, but the events of season 6 didn't happen. Stiles and Lydia never got together, and continue to be clueless puppies.**

**Please review, as I don't have a beta for Teen Wolf fics so really have no idea if this is even any good :)**

**Rated M from the outset, so be warned.**

 

 

_They're at a party._

_She knows it's a party because she can feel the bass under her skin, vibrating, but she isn't aware of much else. There's a red plastic cup in her hand, and its empty. She doesn't feel drunk though._

" _Hey."_

_She turns to the sound of his voice, smiling. "Hey, Stiles."_

_He looks nice, like he dressed up for the occasion. Navy blue button down and dark jeans. "Where have you been?"_

_She doesn't really know where she's been before this moment, so she shrugs. "Waiting."_

" _Waiting for what?"_

" _I…" She frowns. "I don't know." She looks around, takes in her surroundings. They're upstairs in the hallway. There are a few people milling around, looking for a bathroom or bedroom, but other than that they're alone. She recognizes the house, but she can't place it._

_Then suddenly, she realizes._

_She's dreaming._

" _Have you been waiting for me?" Stiles asks, his eyes wide. She looks up at him, considers him for a long time, because yes she_ has _been waiting for him, and now she knows what she's supposed to be dreaming about._

" _Yes," she says, clearly this time, jutting her chin out. Stiles reaches out and takes it between his thumb and forefinger, grinning like an idiot._

_He dips his head down to hers, invading her space. "Lydia, are you sure you want this?" He's whispering, his breath tickling her face. She shudders, steadying herself with one hand on his chest. "We can just go downstairs and dance."_

" _No," she whispers back, adamant. "Take me somewhere."_

_That's how they end up in the study, Lydia perched on the end of the desk, Stiles between her legs as she fists her hands in his hair, moaning incredibly loudly because it's not like the rules of physics really apply here and she's definitely not going to alert anyone._

_He's got one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, hand splayed over the small of her back as he pushes her against his mouth, tonguing her roughly, ignoring her cries. He pulls away to watch her as she whimpers, catching her eye as his fingers continue to pump in and out, the rhythm driving her insane._

" _Holy shit," she pants as he smirks and resumes what he was doing, his tongue flicking deliciously against all the right places. He's groaning with pleasure at the sounds she's making, fingers digging into the skin of her back. Lydia's hips buck involuntarily. "I can't believe we're doing this, Stiles."_

_He rests his head against her thigh, kissing the sensitive skin there as he gazes up at her, eyes misty with lust. "I love the way you say my name," he sighs as she squirms and impatiently surges forward, riding his fingers. He licks his wet lips, eyes roaming over her face. "I want to know what you sound like when you come."_

_She clenches around his fingers involuntarily, because God, he was so sexy and how wasn't she aware of this before? "Come for me, Lydia," he groans, dipping back down and taking her clit between his teeth, sucking gently on it as he curls his fingers inside her. She loses it, gasping and gripping his hair. "Come on, Lydia. I want you to come all over my fingers."_

_She yanks him up to her by the hair, fire in her eyes. She's going to come, and it's going to be fucking_ incredible _._

_He's palming her clit as he fingers her, and she's fucking his hand with rhythm now, her hips moving with pace. "Oh...God," she gasps brokenly, her teeth against his shoulder. She's so close, she can feel it. "Stiles, I'm going to-"_

"Lydia!"

She jerked awake, reality hitting her like a train.

Stiles was hovering over her, waving his hand in her face in his usual spastic manner, but she couldn't hear a damn thing he was saying because the blood was rushing in her ears and she'd been _seconds_ away from the best orgasm she'd ever had in her life.

Granted, she'd been dreaming, but it still counted.

She blinked a couple of times, and then glared at him. "Stiles!" she hissed, furious and mortified. She sat up, pulling the sheets up to her neck. "I was _asleep_!"

He shot her a _duh_ look. "I'm aware of that." He turned and headed for her door. "It's nearly ten thirty." He paused in her doorway, staring at her. "You can sleep when you're dead."

She opened and closed her mouth, determined to fire something defensive back. She had never hated anyone in that moment as much as she hated her roommate, for interrupting her sex dream about him.

"It's called a lie-in Stilinski. Heard of it?"

"No, actually." He was resting on the doorframe, his signature shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. "I was up at seven talking to Parrish. They've found something in the woods again."

Lydia groaned, sliding further under her covers. "You spoken to your dad?"

Stiles nodded, his fingers tap tapping against the wood. He literally never stopped moving. "He says we should definitely go down to the station. He thinks it's worth you having a look too."

She sighed dramatically, throwing her covers back and getting to her feet. "I'll get dressed. And Stiles?"

He had been halfway down the hallway, but she heard him shuffle back to her room. He stuck his head in, grinning, brown eyes bright with expectation. "Yeah?"

"Next time, can you fucking _knock_?"

"I did!" He fired back, exasperated. "You were completely out!" He shook his head, retreating towards the kitchen again. She heard his voice bounce off the walls as he walked away. "Must have been dreaming about something good!"

Lydia hugged herself tightly, squeezing her eyes shut in absolute embarrassment.

They were the only ones left in Beacon Hills – permanently anyway. Scott and Malia lived out of town, just far enough away that they could stay out of the stuff they didn't need to be involved in. Stiles had occasionally had to call his best friend and ask for his help, when he and Lydia had run into serious trouble, and Scott had been there as fast as Malia could erratically drive them over.

Before college Lydia had wanted so much for herself – she was going to move away to the city, live in a gorgeous apartment overlooking the skyline and write books about math and physics. She would work the occasional weekend teaching bright young minds, and expand on her theories for the Riemann Hypothesis.

Life didn't work out that way. After MIT she had gone home for the summer and everything had changed. Scott was with Malia, and for once they both seemed genuinely happy. When Scott had slipped an arm around Malia's waist, Lydia's gaze had turned to Stiles, who was on the couch behind them. He smiled up at her, mouth full of Doritos. "Yeah, I knew."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't...mind?" Because this was Stiles' best friend and ex-girlfriend who had their hands on each other.

"We asked," Scott interrupted hastily. Malia shrugged. Lydia knew the girl had been visibly upset when she and Stiles had broken up, but that was nearly four years ago. Things changed.

She looked at Stiles, who was chewing loudly and licking his fingers. And some things didn't change.

"Yeah, we asked him if it was okay," Malia piped up, her hand on Scott's shoulder. "I don't know as much as you guys about how to deal with-" she gestured to herself, and then Scott and Stiles, "-these kinds of things." She bit her lip nervously. "But me and Scott, it just happened." She smiled openly at him, squeezing his shoulder, and Lydia bit her tongue before she could correct Malia on her grammar because actually, the two of them looked perfectly happy. "We work together. We're a team."

"Like you and Stiles." Scott added, nodding.

Lydia's ears were hot all of a sudden, and she felt stupid. Scott hadn't meant anything by it, only that she and Stiles were good at figuring things out. But still. Stiles was grinning at her, his hat perched backwards on his head to cover the hair he clearly couldn't be bothered to cut. He didn't look like the Stiles she said a teary goodbye to when they were eighteen.

After that, everything had happened pretty fast. Scott had moved to a place outside of Beacon Hills, and Malia eventually moved in with him. It wasn't that they wanted to leave the pack. It was that they wanted to at least try and pretend that they weren't going to have to take care of Beacon Hills forever. Lydia understood the feeling.

Stiles and Lydia had spent most of the summer in his room, sprawled over his bed. Stiles had taken a job with his dad at the station, temporarily he said, while he looked for his own place. He spent all of his time with Parrish, hunting supernaturals. Lydia had been looking for a job of her own, but couldn't settle on anything. Something was pulling at the back of her mind, and she couldn't shake it.

"I don't know what it is, Stiles," she mumbled one night as they ate pizza in his room, Lydia offering him a fresh pair of eyes on his case. "I wanted all these things before, and now I don't."

"Are you sure it isn't just post-college depression or something?" He asked, looking up from the crime scene photos in his hands. "Maybe you feel stuck because you feel at home here."

Lydia cocked her head to the side, staring at him. "Why are you back here anyway? I thought you would have had a job in the FBI by now."

Stiles shrugged. "I don't really feel like I'll ever leave Beacon Hills."

"Scott and Malia managed it."

"Lydia, they only live two hours away. We see them all the time." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was starting to flop into his eyes a bit, and Lydia remembered the buzzcut he used to sport when he was fifteen. Man, he had grown up. They all had. "Someone has to stay and take care of everyone. I feel...responsible. So does Scott, that's why he won't move any further."

Lydia chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe I do too."

She watched him examine the photos in front of him, cross-checking them with the medical information in the file open by his knee. He was biting his fingernails, deep in thought.

"Stiles."

"Mmm."

"What if I stayed?"

He dragged his eyes from the papers in front of him up to her face. He looked confused. "Why would you do that?"

She shrugged, sitting up straighter on his bed. "Because you need someone else. Someone with abilities, someone who can help if things get bad."

"I have Parrish. He's a _hellhound._ "

"He can't do what I can do."

"Lydia-" Stiles sounded strained, exasperated. He closed the file in front of him. "Lydia, you can't stay here, you're better than Beacon Hills. You should be doing something incredible, far away from here. I've always done this, stayed up all night figuring stuff out, keeping an eye on the supernatural. I've done it since I was sixteen."

She reached out and covered his hand with her own, silencing him. "I want to, Stiles. I don't want to be anywhere else, I know that now. I _want_ to help you." She didn't want to be on the other side of the country, solving math problems. She wanted to keep the people of Beacon Hills safe for as long as she was needed. Liam was a capable werewolf, everyone knew that, but his pack was weak and small. They weren't ready to take over this town.

Until that time came, Lydia knew she would stay with Stiles, and do what they'd always done - figured things out.

"Maybe I could work with you, as a consultant," she said, the cogs turning in her head. "The three of us would make a good team." An idea struck her then. "Hey. We could move in together."

There was silence as Stiles stared at her, gaping like a fish. "What?" he sputtered, sounding like he was going to laugh.

She rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand. "Me and you. We can get a place and solve crimes together, chase away the supernatural threats. We can keep Beacon Hills safe from evil alphas and werejaguars and whatever the hell else comes our way. If we need Scott, we'll call him."

The disbelief was all over his face. "Living together."

"What's wrong with that?" Lydia asked, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at his tone. "I'd say we practically already live in this room. The amount of times you've let me fall asleep in your bed and taken the couch is admirable, Stilinski."

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the bed sheets, deep in thought. She knew exactly why he was apprehensive – it wouldn't be like living with Scott. There was an attraction there, and they were both fully aware of it. Lydia had known it for a while, since she was seventeen, but so many things had happened back then to prevent them from discussing whatever _it_ was.

Malia had come along and stolen Stiles' heart for a brief time, and it hadn't really been the same since then. Lydia knew he used to adore her, worship the ground she walked on, before she even knew his name. But as they'd grown older she'd seen him change, seen him mature with Malia and develop an understanding of what it was like to be loved by someone, to have a relationship that wasn't completely one-sided. Lydia had never been that, she'd been an infatuation, an idea he'd clung to because she was pretty and popular and not interested.

She and Stiles were closer than ever now, best friends even, but she knew he didn't feel the way he used to feel about her. It had all been terrible timing – she'd gone off to MIT and continued her life, forgetting about her growing feelings for Stiles Stilinski, and when she'd returned it was like he'd convinced himself that they were better off as friends. They'd stayed that way ever since.

Now, as they sat knee to knee on his bed, she knew they had an understanding. Friendship first. Absolutely nothing was worth jeopardizing that, especially when the safety of their town was constantly at stake.

"Okay," he finally said, and Lydia shot to her feet, eyes wide and bright with excitement.

"Really?"

He laughed, shrugging. "Why not? Rent will be cheaper."

A year later and here she was, staring into her wardrobe and pretending she was searching for an outfit when all she could think about was how filthy her dreams about Stiles seemed to be getting. It was becoming a slight problem, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it because moving in together was _her_ idea in the first place.

In her defense, they did work well together as roommates. They were considerate and clean, and never seemed to disagree on anything major. There was that one time when Stiles had nearly had a breakdown because the amount of hair in the shower drain was getting to an alarming level, and he absolutely refused to touch it. Lydia had been pretty apologetic about that, and made him lunch for the rest of the week.

Overall, they were pretty good. Now, if Lydia could just stop dreaming about having sex with him, that would be great.

Stiles was making eggs when she finally entered the kitchen, and he threw a piece of lukewarm toast at her as she took a seat at the breakfast bar. She caught it at her chest, frowning, reaching for the butter.

"So you're not going to like what they found in the woods," Stiles started as he turned to face her, leaning against the counter. He was grimacing.

Lydia's shoulders slumped, and she rested her head on one hand. "What is it?" She felt like she'd only just recovered from the murderous pack of werewolves they'd chased out of town a month ago.

"A severed head."

Lydia stopped chewing. "Seriously?"

Stiles nodded, pursing his lips. "The wound is smooth, like someone cut his head off with a sword or machete."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So it could be non-supernatural."

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It could be, but he's also missing his eyes. Dad says since this is Beacon Hills we're more likely to have some kind of mythical creature on our hands than a plain old serial killer."

Lydia nodded, drumming her fingers on the side of her plate. "A kitsune maybe?" She was thinking of Kira's sword, and the fire she'd personally seen in the fox's eyes. "Or a hunter. Gerard used to chop people in half."

Stiles nodded. "That's what I was thinking." He took the pan off the hob, emptying scrambled eggs on to two plates and reaching for salt and pepper. He added salt and ketchup to his eggs, and raw spinach and hot sauce to Lydia's. "My dad honestly has no idea. That's why he's asking for us, he wants Parrish and I to take the case off his hands. With Deaton out of town I think we're going to have to put our heads together and do some serious research."

Lydia gratefully accepted the plate from him, dropping her half-eaten toast on to it and wiping her fingers. "We could ask Scott and Malia if they have any ideas."

He winced, twirling his fork between his fingers. "I'd rather not bother them if we don't need to. Let's see what we find first. If we're still stuck tomorrow, we call them."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Lydia engrossed in the newspaper and Stiles furiously texting, his forkful of food never quite making it to his mouth. "Oh shit," he choked suddenly, eggs falling with a splat onto his plate. Lydia looked up, alarmed.

"What?"

"They're doing the autopsy on the head now. Finish up Martin, we gotta move."


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Parrish was waiting for them outside the morgue when they arrived, his mouth set into a thin line. Lydia smiled as they approached, raking her fingers through her hair to try to improve her appearance somewhat after being outside in the rain. Stiles shrugged off his coat, nodding at his partner as they pulled up next to him. 

“What did we miss?” he asked, impatiently pushing the wet hair out of his eyes. 

“Not much, the coroner hasn’t started on the brain or anything yet. She’s still checking out the situation with this guy’s eyes. ” Parrish reached behind and pushed the door open, leading the way into the morgue. “She’ll be back in a few minutes. She told me before she left that she found fibers from a leather glove in his socket.” 

Lydia and Stiles shared a look. “We considered the possibility that this might be a hunter,” she said, blowing on her fingers as the cold air hit her. “Or a group of hunters who may have chased John Doe into Beacon Hills.” She glanced down at the head, resting forlornly on the metal slab in the center of the room. She resisted the urge to scrunch her nose in disgust. “Or perhaps he was trying to hide here, and they found him.” 

“If this was a hunter,” Stiles muttered, a deep crease in his forehead as he looked at what was left of John Doe, “they didn’t kill him for no reason.” 

Lydia looked at Parrish, biting her lip. “Hunters usually have a code, or rules, and they don’t usually operate alone.” 

“So we’re either dealing with a rogue hunter, or a pack of…” Stiles gestured at the gaping eye sockets and greying skin, screwing up his face. “…Whatever this guy was.” 

“Or,” Parrish interrupted, folding his arms over his chest, “we have a serial killer on our hands who is murdering random victims with a sword, with absolutely no supernatural connection.” 

Lydia resisted the urge to look at Stiles again, knowing what he was thinking. Beacon Hills didn’t attract serial killers, it attracted _monsters_. 

A couple of years ago Stiles would have argued, waving his arms around dramatically while he tried to convince everyone that he was always right about these things. But he worked for the department now, and Parrish was his partner, and it was his job to keep an open mind. Besides, if there really was a serial killer targeting the innocent civilians of their town, it was still his job to stop them. He was still, first and foremost, a protector. 

The coroner pushed through the door, interrupting their thoughts as she placed a clipboard down on the counter with a clatter. "Oh, you're here, good. I've got something to show you." 

"We know about the fibers already," Stiles responded as they all crowded around the table under the light. Lydia rested her hands on the cold metal, bracing herself against it and staring down at the severed head as the coroner pulled on latex gloves. 

"I found more than just fibers," she muttered, reaching over and forcing the mouth open. "You've got quite the case on your hands here." 

Stiles leaned over, his eyes bright with curiosity. Lydia had seen that look countless times before, and she swallowed down a smirk. The gore didn’t really seem to bother him any more, which was a vast improvement from his teenage years. Nowadays Lydia watched as Stiles lost himself in cases, searching for answers until the sun came up, only looking up from his laptop when she brought him fresh coffee in her slippers. She could tell him he needed to sleep more, but he wouldn’t listen to her. He was made for this line of work. 

"I saw something strange earlier, but I didn’t move anything until you were all here. Look, right there." She pointed with a gloved hand to the back of John Doe's throat. "Do you see that?" 

Lydia ducked under Stiles' arm, her curiosity peaking too. "What is it?" She could see something red and shiny. 

"Can you get it out for us?" Parrish asked, squinting as he tried to identify what it was. The coroner nodded, reaching inside the mouth and pulling it out. She let it roll into the middle of her hand as the three of them crowded round her. 

Lydia cocked her head to the side, staring. "It looks like...a bead. Some sort of wooden painted bead, like something you'd have on a piece of jewelry." She furrowed her brow, looking up at Stiles and Parrish. "Why would he have jewelry in his mouth?" 

Parrish shrugged. "Like I have a clue, I stopped asking these kinds of questions years ago." He let out a frustrated sigh, looking at Stiles. "I have to go back to the station and help your dad with another case. A missing child." 

Lydia felt her heart sink, and put a comforting hand on Parrish's shoulder. She couldn’t imagine some of the shit that the Sheriff's department had to deal with, and was glad she only helped when it came to the supernatural, or in this case, the just plain _weird_. 

Parrish left, and the coroner told them to go home too, saying she would call if she found anything else. Lydia was glad to leave – she'd always struggled with the autopsies, and preferred sitting in front of her research, problem solving, rather than watching people cut other people open. 

The drive home was quiet, the radio crackling as she and Stiles mulled over everything in their heads. Lydia worked part time at a café down the street but she wasn't due in today, and it was supposed to be Stiles' day off, but she knew that didn't make a difference when there was a mystery to be solved. She had to admit, it was a pretty crazy case, and it had them both stumped. 

Stiles was the first to break the silence. 

"Oh man, all that rotten flesh has really got my appetite," he mused, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He shot her a sideways look, grinning. "Takeout?" He asked, a hopeful twinge in his voice. 

"Only if it's Mr. Wu's. You know I only go for Wu's." 

"Mr. Wu's it is." 

They went through the drive-thru, ordering noodles and spring rolls with extra salad for Lydia and extra sauce for Stiles. They barely even had to ask any more. The servers knew their order by heart. 

Lydia held the bag of food on her lap as Stiles drove the couple of blocks home, feeding him half a spring roll and rolling her eyes when he complained that it was too hot. 

"Jesus, my taste buds are no more!" 

"What did you _think_ was going to happen?!" 

"Well, I wasn't expecting them to be so fresh! They usually sit under the heater for an hour before anyone orders them!" 

"Hey, don't insult Mr. Wu's, okay? He makes good comfort food. We're gonna need it, today is gonna be a rough one, I can tell." 

They made their way up to the apartment and unlocked the door, Stiles flopping immediately on to the couch as Lydia pulled two bottles of water out of the fridge. They spread the food out on the coffee table and Lydia pulled her carton of noodles into her lap, reaching for chopsticks. "So where do we start?" She asked, chewing on a piece of tofu. 

"Maybe at the location where the head was found?" Stiles replied, opening his phone as he shoved a forkful of pad thai into his mouth. He couldn’t use chopsticks. Lydia had tried to teach him once, but stopped when he nearly stabbed himself in the eye. Twice. 

Lydia leaned over and looked at the location on the map in Stiles' phone. "It isn't near the nemeton at least." 

"But you think this is a supernatural case, right?" Stiles asked, frowning. 

She drew in a deep breath, and let it out, closing her eyes briefly. "Yes, I do. I wish I didn't, but it seems way too strange." 

Stiles nodded, still engrossed in his phone. "Look, he wasn’t really found near anything. That part of the woods is rarely used." He tapped his fork against his mouth, a confused look on his face. Lydia suddenly remembered the dream she'd had that morning, and buried her face in her noodles, shrinking away from him. Now was not a good time for him to be drawing attention to his mouth. She could still vividly picture him licking his lips before _thoroughly_ going down on her. Hell, she could still hear his groans as he curled his fingers at just the right angle- 

Stiles snapped his fingers in front of her face, and she jumped, her eyes huge as she blinked at him. She'd been staring into her food, stray noodle hanging out of her mouth. 

"You okay?" Stiles asked, looking amused. "You were gone for a sec there." 

Um, I'm...fine," she stuttered, feeling her ears get hot. She kept her eyes trained firmly on the wall opposite. Stiles raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, shaking his head and going back to the case. 

"Okay, so as I was saying, he was found really far out. That’s why the flesh is so decayed, no one found him for days." 

Lydia cleared her throat, pushing the extremely inappropriate thoughts about Stiles' tongue to the back of her mind. They were _working_. She needed to get her shit together. 

"The rest of him could be anywhere," she mused, opening her laptop. "If this really is a hunter, they wouldn’t dispose of the body and not the head. It seems pointless." She nibbled on a piece of broccoli. 

"Unless there was something on the body, something they didn’t want us to see." 

"Like a tattoo? A pack marking?" 

"Maybe." Stiles chewed his lip. "What else do we know so far?" 

Lydia placed her almost empty carton on the table, sitting up straighter. "John Doe, found in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Head chopped off, eyes gouged out. The murder weapon is a sword or machete of some kind, and the killer obviously took it with them. He had glove fibers in his eye sockets and a red bead in his mouth." 

Stiles was listening, his hands resting under his chin. "The killer was smart, and the crime was premeditated." 

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. "I'm thinking it's about time I dig out the bestiary. Whatever John Doe was, I don't think we've come across it before." 

"Good idea. I'll make us some tea." 

They sat side by side, Lydia poring over the bestiary, mumbling in Latin and sipping on chamomile tea while Stiles looked through photos of medieval swords and modern hunting weapons, trying to find a link to some kind of hunter. He'd called Chris and asked about other groups aside from the Argents and the Calaveras, but without a murder weapon there wasn’t much information for him to work with. He'd noted down all the other hunters Chris could name and then stared at the names, shaking his head, before resuming his search. They had so much work to do. 

Neither of them realized when the sun started to go down, yellow-orange light slanting through the windows on to the floor in front of them. They'd been at it for hours, and Lydia felt her eyelids drooping, the light from her laptop screen making them itchy. She yawned, letting her head fall to the back of the couch.  

 _His teeth_ _a_ _re on her neck_ _, and she arches into him, tilting her head back_ _to give him better access. She's_ _sighing with pleasure as he grinds himself into her, pushing her into the couch. "I want you," he whispers against the shell of her ear, his voice husky. She can feel his teeth graze her earlobe and she shudders, groaning._  

 _She doesn’t remember how they ended up sprawled on the couch, Stiles' body on top of hers, her legs around his waist, but she isn't complaining. She digs her fingernails into his shoulder blades, enjoying the way it makes him tense up, his breath hitching._  

 _"You're so fucking hot, Lydia," he continues, and she can_ feel _him against her core, hard and pulsing, so she pushes up into him, her legs_ _gripping him tighter. He lets out a strangled moan, sucking hard on his_ _favorite spot, just above her collarbone. "You don't know how long I've wanted this."_  

 _"Oh, I know," she breathes, reaching for the hem of his tee. "You can have me, Stiles. You can have whatever you want, just...keep doing what you're doing."_  

 _She feels him smiling against her skin. "Okay."_  

 _He pulls back to remove his shirt, and Lydia takes the opportunity to sit up, one hand pushing his chest until_ _his back hits the couch and she's straddling him. She likes to be in charge, and with Stiles it doesn’t happen often._  

 _He's gazing up at her with_ _fire in his eyes_ _as she unbuttons her blouse, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She leaves it unbuttoned, a thin strip of skin showing, teasing him. "Remind me how long you've wanted this?"_  

 _Stiles reaches out, his fingers grazing the sheer lace of her bra as he skims his hand down the opening, looking at her like he's never seen her before. "Too long," he breathes, and sits up to push the material off her shoulders. He pulls a bra strap down and kisses the bare skin there. Lydia shivers. "It's always been you, Lydia."_  

 _She tugs at the hem of his tee impatiently, because it should be off by now. He helps her pull_ _it over his head, and his muscles ripple under her fingers as he jumps at her touch_ _. His hair falls into his eyes, and Lydia thinks this is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen – Stiles, unruly and shirtless and hers._  

 _She's_ _staring, and he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he's grinning like an idiot, holding her gaze, daring her to make a move. She licks her lips and leans in, holding her breath as they softly bump noses, closing the gap between_ _-_  

Stiles' ringtone went off, and the sound pierced right through the middle of her dream. Everything faded to nothing as her eyes popped open and she scanned the coffee table in front of her, bewildered. 

She'd fallen asleep on Stiles' shoulder, and he was softly snoring next to her, his head resting on the back of the couch, mouth wide open. His phone was still ringing, so she dug her elbow into his side, waking him with a start. 

He snorted, sitting up and giving his head a little shake, blinking rapidly before recognizing the sound. He scrambled for the phone, shoving the handset against his ear and wiping a hand over his face. "Yeah, Stiles." 

Lydia slid all the way to the other side of the couch, refusing to look at Stiles as she listened to him take the call. This was getting ridiculous. It was bad enough that she dreamed about him while she was alone, in her own bed, but on the couch? When he was _right there_? 

She stood up abruptly, clearing their empty noodle cartons away and ignoring the way her stomach was twisting with humiliation. If Stiles knew what he was like in her dreams, what she let him do to her sometimes...well, she'd never live it down, that was for sure. He'd probably never speak to her again, except to laugh in her face. Anyone would think she hadn't gotten laid in _years_ , the way her subconscious was screwing her over right now. 

She took the boxes into the kitchen, emptying them in the trash can, and took a long swig out of her water bottle. That's all it was. Her subconscious was just trying to tell her to get some action, and the fact that Stiles was always with her was the only reason _he_ was the one undressing her and touching her and grinding himself against her... 

She swallowed dryly, putting her hands over her hot cheeks. Yeah, she had a problem. 

"Yeah, okay. Thanks. Okay, bye." Stiles hung up as he entered the kitchen, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Lydia plastered the best smile she could muster on her face. 

"Who was that?" 

"The coroner. She swabbed our John Doe's mouth and sent it off for analysis before we attended the autopsy, and the results just came back. There was human DNA in his mouth, from someone else." 

Lydia rested one hand on the counter, her smile falling off. "So...he bit someone?" 

"Or he ate someone." 

They were silent, staring at each other. "This case is fucked," Lydia said eventually. She checked her watch. 19:43. "We shouldn’t have fallen asleep." 

Stiles nodded. "I know. But I have an idea." 

He was looking at her with an apologetic expression, and she recognized that look. "Does this idea involve my banshee intuition by any chance?" 

"A little," he said, looking up at her through the loose strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He stepped closer to her, and she resisted the urge to step back. "They're never going to find the body unless we help. And when I say help, I mean-" 

"My kind of help, I get it," she interrupted, pursing her lips. "We're going to the woods, aren't we?" 

He placed his hands on her shoulders, offering her a supportive smile. "Only if you're up for it Martin." 

She shrugged out of his grip, wanting to be far away from those hands right now. And those eyes. And that mouth... 

"Alright, Stilinski. I'll get my coat." 


	3. Chapter 3

 

It was a cold night, and the heater in Stiles' jeep wasn't doing anything to warm Lydia's toes as she rubbed her hands together, shrinking further into her coat. She had been out to the woods with Stiles enough now that she didn't feel fear any more, but she was still nervous as they drove into the darkness. She was afraid of finding the body. She always hated finding the bodies.

Stiles put his hand on the seat behind her head as he drove, offering her a comforting smile. She didn't like that he was so close to her after everything that had been going through her head recently. When his thumb accidentally brushed her ear she shrank into the window, and he noticed. She saw him frown slightly as he moved his hand to change gears, and then put both hands back on the wheel. They didn't look at each other after that.

"Okay, here it is," Stiles muttered, squinting into the darkness as they parked at the side of the road. "This is as close as we're gonna get in the car. We'll have to walk the rest of the way."

Lydia nodded wordlessly, opening the door and hopping out before he could say anything else.

She flicked her flashlight on, the harsh light illuminating her foggy breaths as they came out in short bursts. She wrapped her scarf a little tighter around her neck and started walking, following Stiles as he set off along a very overgrown trail, pulling his gun as he did so. He rested it loosely on his arm above his flashlight, classic cop style, and Lydia tried not to think about the fact that his weapon of choice used to be a freaking _baseball bat_.

They swung their flashlight beams back and forth along the path as they walked in silence, the only sounds coming from the trees around them. It was obvious that what Stiles had said about this area was true – clearly no one came around this part of the woods. Lydia could barely see where she was supposed to be walking.

"Do you feel anything?" Stiles asked, his voice loud in the quiet. He turned to look behind him, catching her eye. "Any growing sense of dread?"

She shook her head. "Other than the feeling that we're alone in the middle of the most abandoned part of the woods, in a town that is infamous for its nightmarish monsters, searching for a headless corpse?"

He glared at her. "Yes, other than that."

She raised one eyebrow, unable to help herself. "No. I don't feel anything out of the ordinary."

Stiles nodded, disappointment clearly written all over his face. "I'll check the GPS on my phone and try to get us as close to where the head was found as possible." He holstered his gun at his side and pocketed his flashlight, pulling out his phone instead while Lydia hugged herself for warmth.

"We're about ten minutes' walk away," he stated, rotating the phone as he figured out where to go. "We follow the trail for another seven or eight minutes, I'd say, then it's a bit more of a trek into the unknown."

Lydia bit her tongue before she said something she knew would upset him. She understood that he needed her for this part, and that she'd offered her help, but it still didn't make it okay that he was dragging her into the woods at night.

She didn't want to admit that she was only sour because her dream had been interrupted once again, before she had a chance to taste dream-Stiles' lips, or…well, the rest of him.

She was definitely just mad at herself. No need to take it out on him. It wasn't like he was aware of her thought processes recently.

"Let's go then," she said, faking a smile. "I probably just need to get closer to the crime scene."

She knew he noticed that something was off about her attitude, but he didn't say anything, only stared at her for a couple of seconds longer than usual before he resumed their search, using her light. She trailed behind him, shining her flashlight everywhere but at him.

Time passed, and suddenly they had to leave the path, Stiles' coordinates leading them into the undergrowth. It was wild, and she found herself stumbling a few times before Stiles eventually reached for her hand with his own. "You okay?" he asked, worry etched into his features as he steadied her, his fingers grasping hers. "Stay with me."

He didn't let go, and they continued through the trees, holding hands. When Stiles finally came to a halt and untangled his fingers from hers, she _hated_ herself for how disappointed she felt at the loss of contact.

 _It's your subconscious_ , she thought to herself, annoyed. _It's telling you what your body craves, that's all it is._

She tried to remember when she'd last had sex. There were a couple of casual guys over the year, but nothing that had really satisfied her. She and Stiles had an unspoken agreement – neither of them ever brought people back to their place. If they met someone, they went to that person's bed and they left it there. They had never officially spoken about it, but Lydia was glad they had an understanding. She'd seen Stiles sneaking back into the apartment in the early hours a few times since they'd moved in together, smelling like bourbon and perfume, his shirt loosely buttoned and his hair messier than usual. She knew one hundred percent that she did not want to meet any of the women that Stiles Stilinski slept with.

Stiles had caught her tiptoeing through the door, heels in hand once, and had said nothing. In fact, neither of them had ever spoken about their sex life. It was probably the only subject they never broached.

"We're here," Stiles breathed, looking at her expectantly.

Lydia drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to forget what she had been thinking about. She needed to clear her mind, empty it of pointless thoughts about her roommate. Her abilities were there for a reason, and she wanted to help as much as she could.

Stiles waited patiently as she breathed, eventually opening her eyes. She moved towards the crime scene tape, the light from the flashlights reflecting harshly off the yellow plastic. The scene looked abandoned now, the tape loose and flapping against the tree trunk. Lydia reached out and ran her hand along it, letting her bare skin touch the cold plastic as she waited for something to happen.

"All I can sense is death," she sighed, looking up at Stiles apologetically. "I'm not getting any more information. Definitely not a location."

"Damn it," Stiles muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He moved closer to her, scanning the ground. "There must be _something_ here."

"Maybe there really isn't a body, Stiles," Lydia murmured. "Maybe it's been incinerated, or eaten by a wild animal."

A loud _snap_ echoed around them, the sound coming from somewhere to Lydia's right. She felt the air leave her lungs as Stiles leapt forward and grabbed her. He pushed her up against the nearest tree, his gun in his hand immediately as he boxed her in, his arms either side of her body, finger on the trigger. "Turn the flashlight off," he demanded, and she did as she was told, plunging them into darkness.

The moon was their only source of light, and Lydia could see it reflected in Stiles' eyes as they darted back and forth, searching for the threat. She held her breath, dizzy. He was so _close_. His body was pressed against hers as they hid from the sound, her face against his chest. She could feel an erratic heartbeat, but she didn't know if it was his or hers.

He didn't seem to notice how close they were, or care. He was still listening intently for another sound, tense and ready for a fight. Lydia looked up at him, her hair brushing against his chin as she did so. She waited like that for what felt like forever, gazing up at him.

"Stiles," she whispered finally, her voice coming out shaky because they'd almost been attacked by _something_ and the guy she'd been dreaming about screwing for three months just pushed his body up against hers with literally _zero_ warning. She tried again. "I think we're okay. It was probably just a deer."

She felt his body visibly relax, bit by bit, as he started to accept that whatever it was, it was gone. He glanced down at her. "I don't think that was a deer, Lydia, do you?"

She didn't answer, because now that he'd lowered his head their faces were inches apart, and she didn't know if she'd ever been this close to Stiles' face before, other than that time in the locker room when they were kids. Her breathing hitched, and she couldn't help but look at his mouth as she remembered that day. His lips had been so soft and pliable, melting into hers as she kissed his panic away. Even though they were both now in their twenties, she could still remember the details of that kiss – the way he had completely held his breath, the tickle of his eyelashes on her skin as he eventually closed his eyes, accepting that she was actually kissing him. The soft pressure of him kissing her back. Lydia remembered everything.

And as their eyes met, their misty breaths clashing in the small space between them, Lydia wanted to feel it again.

He was looking at her, finally noticing their proximity. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest quicken ever so slightly against her body as he fixed his eyes on her face, waiting.

She moved agonizingly slowly forward, her gaze dropping to his mouth once more. This was probably a huge mistake, but she couldn't think straight with Stiles' lips so close to hers, slightly parted in surprise and confusion, his eyes dazed. She hovered there, unsure, but then Stiles moved just a fraction of an inch towards her, his eyes fixed on her mouth, before they fluttered closed as their cold noses brushed against one another. He wanted this too.

They fit together like the first time. Lydia felt her chest expand as Stiles kissed her in the dim light, slowly, hesitantly. She reached up with one hand, placing it gingerly against his jawline as he tilted his head, capturing her lips at a different angle and taking her breath away. The hand that wasn't holding the gun slipped under her scarf at her shoulder, his thumb gently stroking the bare skin where her collarbone met her neck. It was a careful gesture, and Lydia felt like she might break under the softness of his touch.

She let out a faint moan, pressing forward and opening her mouth for him to access. He pushed back, his tongue meeting hers, a little noise escaping the back of his throat that went _straight_ to her lower abdomen.

Then suddenly he was gone, stepping backwards, shaking his head. Lydia felt her face go cold again, and she couldn't do anything but stare at him, eyes wide, lips still moist from his kiss.

She wanted to reach out to him, to drag him back to her, but there was something in his demeanor that stopped her. He wouldn't look her in the eye, and seemed intent on getting as much distance between them as possible.

Neither of them spoke, the silence deafening. Lydia was still disoriented from the kiss. It was as good as she had imagined, and she wanted more. Unfortunately, Stiles didn't look like he felt the same way.

"We can't just-" he started, his hand going to the back of his neck. He looked wild, panicked. "I mean, I'm not…" he couldn't seem to find what he wanted to say. Lydia felt herself start to warm up, and realized that she was _embarrassed_. She felt rejected. Stiles was rejecting her.

She finally snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. "No," she interrupted, unable to face him either. "You're right, that was…" she bit her lip, fiddling with the flashlight in her hand. "It never happened."

He stopped, finally looking at her, but she couldn't meet his eye. She'd been thinking about this for months, but she never imagined it would happen like this, in the middle of the woods at a freaking crime scene. It was all wrong. The way Stiles was looking at her was wrong.

"That was stupid," he finally managed to say, and she felt crushed. She bit back tears. She'd never really been rejected before, but she was sure she wouldn't have cared all that much, had it been anyone else. Stiles was different.

"Totally," she agreed, nodding. She thought about how his tongue felt in her mouth, his groan vibrating against her lips as her back hit the tree behind her. Yep, so stupid.

She turned abruptly and started to head back the way they'd come, turning the flashlight on again. She didn't want Stiles to see her face, because she was worried the disappointment was written all over it.

Neither of them spoke for the walk back, and Stiles didn't reach for her hand to help her as they navigated through the wildest part of the trek. Lydia pursed her lips, putting one foot carefully and determinedly in front of the other, refusing to fall and need his assistance. She had always been fine on her own anyway.

The more they walked, the more Lydia started to think that Stiles was right. Yes, she had been thinking about him recently. Yes, she had wanted to kiss him for a while now. But they were supposed to be working a case together, not making eyes at each other in the woods. Lydia had always put work first. Plus, Stiles was her closest friend and ally, and she couldn't afford to lose him. Friendship first.

They finally made it back to the Jeep, Lydia feeling pretty proud of herself for leading the way. She was really cold now, the frosty air biting into her skin as she clambered into the car, reaching immediately to turn the heat on. Stiles was beside her, his brow seemingly constantly furrowed as he put the key in the ignition and the car roared to life.

It was a very awkward journey home, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Lydia regretted her behavior now, knowing she had pushed Stiles away. He was gripping the wheel tightly, looking considerably pissed with her. She inwardly groaned – it was _awful_ , when Stiles was mad at her.

She couldn't blame him of course. He used to be in love with her at school, and she didn't pay him a damn bit of attention. It seemed only right for him to be angry at her for waiting until he was well and truly over her to make a move. It had been _years_ , since their first kiss. They had built so many bridges since then, and so many walls. Hell, they might as well have built a freaking moat around their feelings. Now, Lydia felt like both of them had just set the whole castle on fire.

She sighed as they pulled into their parking space, coming to a halt. Stiles was deep in thought, completely ignoring her presence. She couldn't bear to sit in the car and feel the silence pressing in all around her, so she got out, slamming the door behind her. She felt his eyes follow her as she headed for the stairs, and heard him exit the Jeep as she put her foot on the first one. She didn't want to get the elevator and have to stand in there with him, listening to that terrible music.

 _What a fucking mess_ , she thought as she climbed to their floor, the tiredness settling in. She entered the apartment, throwing her keys on to the table by the door, and shrugged off her coat. The whole night had been a disaster. They hadn't even made any progress with the case.

She heard a slam as she was removing her scarf, and turned to see that Stiles had made it. He was pressed against the closed door, his back to her. She needed to say something, to apologize for coming on to him. They needed to sort this out, whatever it was, so they could go back to working together.

"Stiles," she began, wanting to at least break the silence. She was unsure of how to continue her sentence, so she bit her lip, waiting for him to turn around so they could talk.

He did, taking three long steps towards her, his eyes burning with determination. She barely had time to open her mouth before he collided with her, his hands on either side of her face, lips against hers as they stumbled backwards, Lydia's surprised squeak drowned in his kiss.

It only took her a second to respond, her hands flying to his hair as he lowered his arms to her thighs, lifting her clean off the ground and placing her roughly on the table, pushing the keys and whatever else was there to the floor. They clattered as they hit the wood.

For once, Lydia's mind was blank. Stiles was kissing her like he was drowning and she was oxygen, his hands pressing against her hips as he pulled her lower lip between his teeth. _Holy fuck_ , she thought, the moan that escaped her breathy with surprise. She let her body take over, pushing his coat off his shoulders impatiently and reaching for his belt buckle.

She knew they should slow down, that they should take a step back and think about this, but all of her fantasies were coming true, and she couldn't stop herself. Stiles seemed to be on a similar wavelength, his lips leaving hers and moving to her neck, his nose nuzzling her ear as he kissed the sensitive skin underneath it. He trailed hot kisses down to her collarbone, his hands grasping the hem of her sweater as she dropped his belt on the floor.

She pulled away long enough for him to tug it over her head, shivering in her tank top before she reached for his warmth again, fisting her hand in his shirt and tugging him roughly against her. His hands skimmed down her arms as he kissed her again, teasing her mouth open.

She let him in willingly, a groan bubbling up her throat as their tongues met, more roughly than in the woods. This was frantic and desperate, their kisses sloppy and full of want. She was dizzy with desire, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

She managed to get three undone when someone knocked on the door.

The noise was impossibly loud, forcing the two of them apart immediately. They stared wide eyed at each other as Parrish's voice sounded.

"It's me. Sorry Stiles, but you're gonna want to open the door. It's about the case."

For a fraction of a second both of them were frozen, half undressed, lips swollen. Then Lydia shot off the table, picking up Stiles' belt and throwing it at him, pushing him roughly away, in the direction of his bedroom. _Go_ , she mouthed frantically, and he got the hint, retreating down the hallway.

She reached for her sweater, throwing it over her head as Parrish knocked again. "Coming!" she sang, in her best casual voice. She quickly hung Stiles' coat up and put the keys back on the table, running a hand over her face and hair before opening the door.

"Hey," she said, trying not to sound out of breath. "What's up?"

Parrish cocked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. "Is Stiles in?"

"I'm here," his voice sounded as he approached, looking considerably less like he'd been about to fuck her in their hallway. His belt was secured and his shirt buttoned again, and he'd smoothed his hair back. "What's going on?"

Lydia kept her eyes on Parrish, afraid of giving them away if she looked at Stiles. She still couldn't believe he'd just walked over and claimed her like that. It was so unexpected, not to mention _hot_.

"I know it's getting late but I thought you'd want to know what I found," Parrish continued, looking tired.

Stiles looked at him, concerned. "Did you find the rest of the body?"

"No," he sighed. "We found the missing kid. She's dead."

Lydia felt her insides twist, her hand going to her mouth. "No," she whispered. She felt Stiles' hand on her shoulder. But Parrish wouldn't be here over a missing child, because it wasn't Stiles' case. It was completely unrelated. Wasn't it?

Parrish nodded gravely. "She was out by the lake, half buried. She wasn't all…there."

Stiles closed his eyes, swallowing audibly. "Please don't tell me she was missing her head."

"She still had her head. That's not why I'm here." Parrish ran a hand over his face, his stubble starting to show. "We took a sample of her DNA."

Lydia was starting to put two and two together. "Oh, Jesus, no," she gasped, feeling the tears prick her eyes.

Parrish nodded again. "It's a match to the DNA we found in John Doe's mouth."


	4. Chapter 4

 

Lydia was trying to make sense of everything as she rode with Parrish to the station, ignoring the tiredness settling in her bones. It was now midnight, and if it wasn’t for the nap they’d had earlier, Lydia wasn’t sure she and Stiles would have made it this far.

She had chosen to ride with Parrish to avoid another awkward journey in the jeep. After their heated makeout session, complete with various levels of undress, she didn’t really feel like being close to Stiles was a good idea. The case had taken an awful turn, and there was a dead child whose family needed justice. It would be inappropriate for them to be letting their inner desires take over when it was more important than ever that they were focused.

She rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying not to let her eyes drift shut. Parrish glanced at her, brow furrowed.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes flicking from the road to her face and back.

She blinked a few times, staring at him. “Yes, why?”

He shrugged. “You don’t seem yourself.”

Her face fell. “Jordan, a kid just died. Of course I’m not myself. I can’t compartmentalise like you and Stiles, I wasn’t made for this side of the job.”

He nodded sympathetically. “It’s hard for me too. And Stiles hasn’t worked a case like this one since he started, so it can’t be easy for him either.” He shifted in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. “Maybe you should have kept him company on the way here. Or at least kept him out of his own head.” Parrish shook his head, worried. “He gets trapped in there sometimes.”

Lydia didn’t answer, instead resting her chin on her fist and continuing to gaze out of the window. She didn’t want to talk about Stiles. She wanted to stop finding the bodies. She wanted to stop being too late to save the people that deserved to be saved. She wanted to figure out what the hell was going on.

They arrived at the station, the Sheriff meeting them outside as they killed their engines and got out. Noah looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his uniform ruffled and the skin under his eyes darker than usual. Lydia had a huge amount of respect for the people who protected her town day and night. It was a truly exhausting job.

“I’m sorry you guys ended up a part of this,” he sighed, leading them inside. Stiles was behind her, holding the door open above her head as she walked in. She chanced a glance up at him, and could see how red his cheeks were, like he’d been rubbing furiously at his face and eyes on the way over.

They sat in Noah’s office, the case files strewn over his desk in front of them. Stiles handed her a coffee and she shot him a small smile, nursing it between her hands as she let her eyes roam over the photos before her. “So, tell us what we need to know,” she said, her voice quiet.

Stiles sat next to her, stretching his legs out with a tired groan. “Yeah. We need to start making progress here.”

“Okay,” the Sheriff began, resting his palms on the desk. “Her name is Lacey Tunning, and she’s from Beacon Hills. Her father reported her missing almost a week ago, in the morning. She’s eight years old.”

Lydia let out a shuddering breath. _Eight years old._

“What attacked her was not human, we know that. There were deep wounds all over her body, from claws, or teeth, but the fatal wound is a stab to the heart that looks pretty intentional.” He looked at Stiles. “We know now that your John Doe definitely took a bite out of her, so we’re assuming he’s…whatever this thing is.”

“I’ve been trying to figure it out,” Lydia cut in, her voice shaky. “I spent hours looking through the bestiary today, but I couldn’t find anything.” She sat back in the chair, chewing her lip. “I’ll keep looking. It has to be in there.”

She could feel Stiles’ eyes on her, but she turned away from him. She didn’t want his comfort right now, it felt wrong. The guilt was churning in her stomach. This whole time she’d been selfishly thinking about Stiles, and his hands on her waist, his teeth on her neck, his moans in her ear. She’d even gone as far as to let it actually happen between them. All while a poor little girl was being murdered by a monster.

Stiles looked away from her. “If her father reported her missing in the morning, that means he must have woken up to find her gone,” he concluded, his hand on the back of his neck. “Are we thinking home invasion?”

“We’re assuming John Doe took her from her bed, yes,” Parrish replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Pretty soon after she was killed, judging by the condition of his body, someone took it upon themselves to chop off John Doe’s head. Whoever it was must have known about him, or what he’d done.”

“A hunter,” Lydia breathed, nodding. “We knew it.”

“So how did he know there was a little girl in bed, in that house?”

“He could probably smell her.”

Lydia closed her eyes, trying not to picture Lacey’s face, and the absolute terror she must have felt as she was dragged from her bed. “The coroner didn’t just find DNA in John Doe’s mouth, she found a bead.” Her mind was reeling as everyone looked at her. “Why was there a bead in his mouth?”

The Sheriff bowed his head. “There were bite marks on her left arm, but they looked interrupted. He must have bitten off her bracelet. Maybe he choked on it.”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupted, holding up a hand. His eyes were closed, his face the picture of confusion. “So you’re suggesting he was trying to...I dunno, eat her, and he stopped because he choked on a bead from her bracelet?”

Noah sighed, running a hand over his face. “It’s a working theory.”

“And then he stabbed her because he couldn’t eat her?”

“She was probably screaming and trying to escape,” Lydia said, her voice cracking. “He would have wanted her to be quiet. If it was his only option…”

“And then he buried her by the lake.”

“It seems desperate, yeah,” Parrish nodded at Stiles, who was becoming increasingly more frustrated with all the new information. “This guy was definitely unprepared, and probably panicked.”

Stiles took a moment to process, chewing his lip. “So this John Doe, he must have been recently turned, whatever he is. There’s no other way to explain that level of recklessness.”

“And he must be alone,” Lydia added. “He doesn’t seem like he had any leadership, or direction. He was acting purely by instinct.”

“What we don’t know, is why he went for a child.” Noah stated, glancing at Parrish. “Maybe you two could figure that out, because if he was targeting children and only children, we may have a problem on our hands if there turns out to be more of these… _things_ out there.”

“I’ll stay with you guys and go over everything,” Stiles announced, standing up. “I’ll try to figure out who this hunter is, because it seems like he or she knows a lot more than we do at this moment in time.”

“Stiles, you should sleep,” Lydia muttered, grabbing his sleeve. He shot her a sharp look, and she let go immediately.

“I think I’ll be fine Lydia, but thank you for caring.”

The room fell silent, everyone looking at Lydia as she stared, wide eyed at her roommate. Well, she deserved that. She had been hot and cold all day.

Parrish cleared his throat, easing the tension somewhat. “Okay, let’s get started then. I want Mr. Tunning to receive some kind of closure.”

Lydia nodded, getting to her feet. “I’ll go home and look through the bestiary again,” she offered, but the Sheriff shook his head.

“Get some sleep Lydia, you look beat,” he asserted, crossing to the other side of his desk and putting a warm hand on her shoulder that reminded her of Stiles, and the way he could so easily comfort her with a firm grip and warm eyes. It must be a Stilinksi thing. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded, reaching for her coat.

He didn’t push her to talk while he drove, and she appreciated that. She briefly fell asleep on the way, her forehead knocking against the window gently as she swayed.

As soon as she entered the apartment she went straight for her laptop, unplugging it and carrying it to her room. She brushed her teeth, changed into comfortable pyjamas and poured herself a glass of water, settling on to the bed and opening the bestiary as she took a sip.

She read rapidly through page after page, her eyes skimming over only the most important parts, looking for something that would target children, something cannibalistic. For once, she was actually frustrated that she had to translate the words rather than read freely. They didn’t have enough _time_ for this. Growling in exasperation, she slammed the laptop shut, pressing her fingertips into her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered into her room, and burst into tears.

That was how Stiles found her a few hours later, curled up on top of her sheets, face streaked with tears as she dozed in and out of sleep. “Hey,” he greeted softly, quickly kneeling in front of her bed, his anger from before long gone. His brow was furrowed in concern as she looked up at him, her eyes glassy, unable to speak. Her throat felt rough. “Lydia, stop punishing yourself.”

“I’m not-” she croaked, trying to defend herself, but Stiles cut her off.

“You are,” he said simply, staring knowingly into her eyes. He brushed the hair away from her face, a few strands sticking to the tear tracks on her cheeks. “None of this was your fault.”

She swallowed thickly. “If I have these abilities, why don’t they work how I want them to?” she asked, her voice catching. “Why couldn’t I prevent this from happening? Why do I always have to find the bodies?”

Stiles grazed his thumb along her cheekbone, looking grave. “I don’t know.”

She sighed shakily, squeezing her eyes shut as another tear leaked out. Stiles caught it this time, the pad of his thumb brushing it away. “I don’t know how you could do this job, Stiles.”

“I do it because someone has to stop this, so no one else gets hurt,” he replied easily. “I do it so you don’t have to find as many bodies.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look away from those honest eyes. Stiles was such a good person, she could barely handle it sometimes. She didn’t know what she would do without him, his warmth and comfort keeping her grounded when she felt like she might float into the darkness.

“Thank you,” was all she could say, her hand covering his. “You’re doing a really good job.”

He chuckled, removing his hand from her face and moving to sit next to her on the bed. She stretched out, wiping her face. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing substantial, but I did a lot of research on a group of hunters who work around Beacon Hills. Tomorrow, I’ll call Scott and Malia. I think we could use some help.”

Lydia nodded, glancing at her bedside clock. “Woah,” she exclaimed quietly, when she realised it was almost four in the morning. She had a shift at the café in three hours. “Stiles, you seriously need to sleep.”

Stiles sighed, standing up. “I know. I’m heading into work in the morning, I’ll meet Scott at the station.” He shuffled to her door, pausing there to turn and smile at her. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Stiles,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The air was heavy with the weight of the line they’d crossed earlier, but Lydia didn’t want to talk about it right now, and she could tell Stiles didn’t either. The case came first, and there was a nagging feeling at the back of her mind that this was far from over.

He left, closing her door behind him, and she lay in bed listening to him run the faucet, brushing his teeth and gargling mouthwash, before padding down the hallway to his room. There were some shuffling noises as he got changed, and then everything went silent.

The quiet pressed in on Lydia, and she didn’t like it. It felt like a weight on her chest as she tried to think about anything other than Lacey Tunning’s face as she screamed for her father, for anyone to help her, a monster’s teeth digging into her flesh.

All of a sudden she felt like she couldn’t breathe, her hand clutching at her chest. She sat up abruptly, willing herself to calm down. She knew she was at risk of having a panic attack if she didn’t slow her breathing, so she closed her eyes, holding her breath, thinking about Stiles and his eyes and the way he looked at her after their first kiss.

Eventually, the panic subsided. She let out a shaky breath, wiping tears from her eyes. Her brain was going a thousand miles a minute, still trying to figure out what was going on, and she knew she was never going to sleep like this. She needed something soothing. Something to calm her, keep her grounded.

She swung her legs off the bed, making her way out into the hallway. The wood floors were cold on her bare feet as she tiptoed carefully past the bathroom, chewing her lip as she did so. Her hand hovered hesitantly over the door handle, and she told herself this was stupid, it was a bad idea.

But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t. It was what she wanted, what she needed. And she would be bold enough to say that he needed it tonight too.

She opened the door, slowly. Stiles was lying in bed, awake. His arm was behind his head and his sheets were bunched around his waist, the moonlight slanting over his bare torso as he stared out of the window. Lydia felt her breath catch in her throat. He looked too good. This was definitely a mistake.

He heard her come in, and turned his gaze towards her, his eyes bright and sad. “Lydia,” he muttered, his voice thick, and she knew he’d been crying. She took a tentative step towards him.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” he replied, looking as unsure as she felt.

She took another step, her heart hammering in her chest. “I…”

“It’s okay,” he interjected, pulling his arm out from under his head. “It’s alright.” He pulled the covers back, and she looked down at the empty space next to him.

“We shouldn’t,” was all she could say, standing self-consciously next to his bed. There were so many horrible things happening, and they didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to have Stiles’ comfort when so many others had died, terrified and alone.

“I know,” he agreed, his voice gentle.

She only waited a moment longer before crawling into bed with him.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling her immediately closer, her back against his bare chest. Lydia felt like she was numb all over as her best friend’s arms enveloped her like they had a thousand times before, but never like this. His breath ghosted over her neck, ruffling the loose hairs around her ear. “Is this okay?” he asked, his heart beating fast and hard against her back.

She closed her eyes, smiling. He was an idiot.

“Yes, it’s…it’s perfect.” She was warm and safe like this, with his steady breathing right next to her ear and the rise and fall of his chest behind her. She reached for his hand, linking their fingers over her stomach. He stiffened ever so slightly, holding his breath.

“Lydia,” he breathed into her ear, and she shivered. “About today…”

She squeezed his hand. “I just want to sleep, Stiles, please.”

A few seconds passed before he responded. “Okay,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over her hand. He buried his face into the hair at the crook of her neck, pulling her closer, breathing her in like she was his oxygen. She went willingly, sighing at his touch, not sure where he ended and she began. They needed this. “Okay. Let’s just sleep.”

She didn’t dream about him that night, because everything she wanted was already there.


	5. Chapter 5

Lydia had never been so close to quitting her job in her life.

She woke after two hours rest, wrapped in Stiles’ arms, in the same position they’d fallen asleep in. He was breathing rhythmically against her neck, his arm draped over her waist. She absolutely did _not_ want to get up, or even move, for fear of waking him and shattering the moment.

She was suddenly extremely aware of the sensation of his fingers under her pyjama shirt, grazing the skin of her stomach, and blushed. She couldn’t believe they had fallen asleep _spooning_ like this. Friends didn’t hold each other this way, but then again, yesterday had pretty much determined they were never going to be the friends they once were. That steamy make out session had established that they were both more than willing to cross the line they had once drawn so firmly in the sand.

She turned slowly, moving to lie on her back and look at Stiles properly. He stirred, stretching his arm over her stomach as she settled, gripping her waist. She bit back a smile, trying not to find it adorable that he refused to let go of her even as he slept. It was one of the most defining aspects of his personality, his unwavering protectiveness over her, even though both of them were fully aware that when it came down to it, she would be the one protecting both of them.

If she was being honest with herself, she had wanted this since she was seventeen and first started to look at Stiles like he was the best thing in her life. She would stare at him in class, watching the way the sunlight made his eyes this surreal shade of amber she’d never seen before. She watched him as he chewed on anything he could find – a pen, his lip, his fingernails – as he tried to find a solution to the problems on his paper. He was the obsessive type, constantly fixated on something. Once upon a time the obsession had been her.

She used to look on ruefully as Stiles walked ahead of her and Scott, with Malia. They never held hands, or even touched really. Neither of them were the types to parade it around school. It was a simple relationship between two fiercely loyal people, but it wasn’t built to last. There was always something happening back then, and never any time to focus on high-school drama. Lydia guessed that was a good thing, because she always had a distraction stopping her from thinking about how Stiles might just have been exactly what she had always wanted, and she was too late to do anything about it.

That felt like a lifetime ago now, as she lay quietly next to her roommate, relishing the way it felt to wake up next to him, his warmth pressing against her. She needed to get up soon, and God was she going to feel like _shit_ at work today, but right now she just wanted to appreciate what Stiles looked like when he was completely peaceful and count the moles on his face until he woke up.

It didn’t take long. He opened his eyes a few minutes later, bewilderment quickly turning into recognition when he realized where he was and remembered the previous night. Lydia had been staring openly at him, and flushed, wondering if she had come across a little creepy. “Hi,” she greeted in a small voice, fingers fiddling with a button on her pyjama shirt.

A concerned look settled over his features as he lifted his head off the pillow. “Hey,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better,” she said, honestly. She hadn’t had enough sleep, but she didn’t feel as irrational as she had the night before. She was starting to accept that Lacey Tunning was dead, and it wasn’t her fault. All she could do now was help her family. That meant solving the case, and neither of them was going to get any further with it if they didn’t rest their bodies and minds. She didn’t need to feel guilty about that.

“Good. That’s good,” Stiles accepted, smiling sleepily. He closed his eyes. “I feel fucked.”

Lydia laughed, the sound loud in his room. “You look it.”

“You don’t exactly look like a goddess right now either, Martin,” Stiles shot back, cocking one eye open with a smirk. “You’re all puffy, like a marshmallow.”

Lydia’s hand flew to her face, covering her cheek. “Really?” she asked, embarrassed. She didn’t want her first morning in Stiles’ bed to be spent looking like a blotchy mess. She was Lydia Martin. She _always_ looked her best.

He nodded, burying his face further into the pillow. “A cute marshmallow,” he finished, his voice muffled. He squeezed her waist.

Lydia tried not to let her smile take over her entire face. “I guess I can deal with that.” She almost reached to put her hand in his hair, but stopped herself, her hands remaining firmly by her sides. They still hadn’t talked about yesterday, and she wasn’t sure where she stood with him. Now wasn’t really the time to start a discussion about what was going on with them. She was going to be late for work, and Stiles needed to call Scott.

Stiles made a noise of reluctance as she started to peel herself away from him, but she persisted, disentangling their limbs and swinging her legs out of the bed.

“Stiles, we have work to do,” she sighed, getting to her feet. He rolled over on to his back, staring at the ceiling. She watched him as he folded his arms behind his head, trying not to let her eyes roam over his body. She’d always had a weakness for muscles, but never expected it to rear its head with Stiles. What the hell happened to the dork she used to roll her eyes at in class?

“Sometimes I wish we lived a thousand miles away from here,” he said quietly, glancing at her. She gave him a sympathetic look.

“Me too,” she replied, smiling. “But they’re always going to need us.”

“When do we get a break?” he asked, and she didn’t know how to answer that, because she didn’t feel like that was ever going to be an option for them. “Scott and Malia get to enjoy themselves most of the time. We should swap every once in a while.”

“Stiles, you would be so miserable living the white picket fence life, and you know it,” Lydia retorted, shaking her head with amusement and making her way to his door.

“I dunno,” he muttered. “I can kinda see it.” He paused. “Me and you.”

She stopped, turning to face him, her heart fluttering. “What?”

He bit his lip, looking like he was debating whether or not to continue. “Yeah. Y’know…you’re on this seat, on the front deck, reading.” He grinned, his eyes meeting hers. “And I’m like, doing the gardening or something.”

She snorted with laughter, her hand flying to her mouth. “Sure.”

“I’m serious,” he laughed, sitting up on his elbows. His eyes were that amber colour again, and Lydia couldn’t look away. “And I accidentally on purpose get you with the hose, and you scream at me because your book is wet now and you’ll never know how it finishes.”

Lydia laughed breathlessly. “That sounds…nice,” she said, her voice small. She let herself imagine for a moment that the life Stiles was talking about could be possible, and it made her dizzy. It wasn’t realistic, and they both knew that, but it didn’t hurt to think about it for just a second – her high pitched giggles piercing the air as Stiles soaked her, that infectious grin forever on his face as she jumped on him, legs around his waist while he twirled them around their garden. She’d never let herself get this far into her fantasies of the two of them, knowing it was never going to happen. But with Stiles staring at her, and her heart beating in her throat, she couldn’t help it.

Stiles shrugged, the grin slowly falling off his face. He looked down at the sheets, deep in thought. A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again, and Lydia held her breath, her hand on the doorknob, unable to get her feet to move.

“I’d do this,” he finally said. “I’d wake up next to you.” Their eyes met again. “I’d do it every day, Lydia, if that’s what you wanted.”

She couldn’t help the tears that pricked her eyes. She was _so_ in love with him.

“I…” she stuttered, her words long gone. He was staring openly at her, and she thought about how well they fit together, in every aspect of their lives. She thought about what it would be like to live far away, no concerns, no stresses about the supernatural. She would spend her days working on her theories and Stiles would come home and she would throw her arms around him and they would be the same as they always had been, except this time they would make love in front of the fireplace and kiss over breakfast and they would be happy. And she wanted that. She wanted it _so fucking much_.

“I have to go to work,” she said, and the walls came up without her permission, her heart closing itself off like it always did. Stiles swallowed, nodding, and she felt her chest cave in. “And you have to call your best friend.” Her feet finally obeyed her, and she turned and left him there in bed.

When she emerged from the shower Stiles was already gone, on his way to the station. She threw on her blouse and jeans, and headed out to the café, checking her watch. She was only going to be ten minutes late, and her manager would most likely not even notice. She ran a hand over her face, feeling exhausted. She longed for things to go back to normal, when she and Stiles were fine, before they stupidly let their feelings get in the way of everything. She wished she could just go back to fantasizing about having sex with him. It seemed so much easier.

She made herself a strong black coffee as soon as she clocked in, inhaling the sweet scent. “Hey Claire,” she greeted her co-worker as she hurried past, clearing tables. “Sorry I’m late.”

Claire waved her off. “It’s cool, it’s not like we’re curing cancer here. We can wait ten minutes.”

Lydia smiled, biting back a yawn. “It was as rough night.”

“You get another case?”

“Yeah, a crazy one, and we’re not getting any closer to figuring out what the hell is going on.”

Claire smirked. “I wouldn’t either, if I was working with Mr. Hottie Detective.”

Lydia scowled at her. “Hey.”

Claire lifted her hands defensively, her cloth dangling from her fingers. “Just saying. I know he’s taken, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, keeping a firmly neutral expression on her face. “Shut up. You missed a spot.”

The morning rush rolled in, commuters and students desperate for their caffeine fix. Lydia was on autopilot, her mind on the case as she served and cleaned without missing a beat. Everyone left her alone when she was like this, and she preferred it. They knew she was doing important detective work in her head.

She was going over all the evidence they had so far. A headless man with no eyes, a chewed up kid, a missing body, a hunter taking matters into their own hands. Everything seemed so random, impossible to piece together. It was incredibly frustrating.

“We’re going to see a movie tonight if you wanna come,” Claire stated as the two of them clocked out at lunchtime. “It’s the new horror, about the demon in the basement who shapeshifts into the family’s kid. Looks real messed up.”

Lydia laughed, unfastening her apron. “Not today.” She had enough of her own demons to deal with.

Claire shrugged. “Your loss.”

Lydia eyed her as she pulled on her coat. “You like the supernatural, huh?”

“I _love_ it. I majored in Mythical Studies at college.” Claire rolled her eyes. “And _look_ where it got me…”

“You know about myths?” Lydia interrupted, her interest peaked. “You never mentioned it.”

“You never asked,” Claire replied, laughing. “I didn’t think you’d care, no one else does.”

Lydia kept her face calm. “Know anything about creatures that target kids?”

Claire shot her a funny look. “Yeah, why?”

“It’s for a paper I’m writing. Research, that kind of stuff,” she replied hastily.

Claire looked like she wasn’t sure if she believed her, but an opportunity to talk about something she liked clearly got the better of her. “Well, there are a few that I can think of off the top of my head.”

“Tell me,” Lydia replied, as they walked out, Claire lighting her cigarette. “Just a quick run down. I can look the rest up myself.”

Claire took a drag, blowing the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Well, the first one I can think of are the Kelpies, from Scotland. They trick children into touching their skin, which is adhesive. Then they drag them into rivers to drown.”

Lydia listened intently, trying to connect anything to Lacey’s death. She had been found next to the river, but her lungs had been empty. Whatever maimed her clearly wasn’t a Kelpie. “Okay, go on,” she said. She had heard of Kelpies before. She had obviously already done the standard online search, but the problem with that was she didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t, and she didn’t want to waste her time on genuine folklore. The only way to find something that really existed was to find it in the bestiary. She could cross reference everything Claire told her with it when she got home.

“There is also Lilith, from Jewish mythology. She was supposed to be Adam’s first wife, but she was unclean. Apparently she ate children, but I honestly don’t know with this one because it’s in the Bible, so it’s possible she either didn’t exist or she did something to upset people and was given a negative label because of it.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows, impressed. “You really know your stuff, Claire.”

Claire shrugged. “It’s nice to feel useful.”

“Anything else?” Lydia asked, itching to get home and start more research. She felt like she was closer than ever before.

Claire was deep in thought. “Oh,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “The Aswang. You’re gonna like this one.”

“Okay…” Lydia encouraged her, biting back a smirk.

“It’s mainly in Filipino folklore, but it’s somewhat heard of over in Western culture. The Aswang is a shapeshifter, known as _Manananggal,_ and it can be a vampire, a witch, a werewolf, anything.”

“A werewolf?” Lydia repeated, her interest definitely peaked now.

“Yeah, and it eats children.”

Lydia’s heart skipped with excitement. “And what else?”

Claire was really in her element now, her cigarette burning out between her fingers, untouched. “Well, there are a bunch of different descriptions out there, so no one really knows for sure what they are, but they’re definitely shape-shifting demons that feed on small children and look like regular people during the day. At night they turn into a bird, a bat or a dog to hunt.”

Lydia’s heart was really beating now. “So how do you know if it’s an Aswang and not a regular person?”

Claire grinned. “Well, this is where it gets really good. If you look into an Aswang’s eyes, your reflection is upside down.”

Lydia let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“Claire dropped her cigarette butt on the ground, stamping it out. “Neat, huh?” she stated, zipping her coat up. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Claire, thank you so much but I have to go, right now,” Lydia burst out suddenly, her mind reeling. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” She called out behind her as she started to run.

She made it back to the apartment in record time, throwing herself through the door and grabbing her laptop before she had even taken her coat off. She pulled at her zipper impatiently as the screen came to life, showing the familiar photo of the four of them in high school, laughing in their graduation outfits.

She opened the bestiary, flicking to the letter _M_. She would have noticed if she’d read about the Aswang, but she hadn’t reached as far as the Manananggal _._ The fact that Claire had mentioned how many different stories there were out there meant that she hadn’t been able to find anything when she’d searched online. Nothing to make her stop and look, anyway.

She held her breath as she flicked to where it should be, and sure enough it was there, in black and white, accompanied by a gruesome picture of a severed torso, sprouting wings from its back.

Lydia started to translate, slowly but surely. The Manananggal was a Filipino monster, similar to a vampire in traits, but possessing the body of a witch or werebeast. The folklore stated that they fed on unborn foetuses, but in reality they only liked to eat young children. They hunted at night and could shapeshift at will into various creatures.

The pieces were starting to come together in her head, and she pulled out her cellphone, dialling Stiles’ number immediately.

He picked up on the second ring, and she knew he wouldn’t have even checked the caller ID. “Stiles.”

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey Lydia.” She could sense the change in his tone of voice, and remembered their conversation that morning, how she’d snubbed him. He sounded like he didn’t really want to hear her voice right now. She could hear Malia and Scott in the background, talking, and it encouraged her to go on.

“Stiles, I think…I think I’ve found something.”

She could sense the change in him without even hearing anything. “What? What did you find?”

“I think I know what John Doe is. He’s an Aswang. They’re shapeshifting demons who eat children. You can kill them by beheading them, and I…I think I know why he had no eyes. If you look into an Aswang’s eyes, your reflection is upside down. My guess is that the hunter removed them so we wouldn’t know what he was.”

There was silence on the other end of the line as Stiles processed what she was saying. “I’ve never heard of one of those before. Hang on.”

She heard him call out to Scott and Malia, asking them if they’d heard of the name. “Scott and Malia haven’t either.” He said.

“And neither had I until ten minutes ago,” she replied, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Stiles, I’m sure of it, this must be it. Everything makes sense. What if we can’t find the body because we’re looking for the wrong species?”

“You mean…”

“What if, when John Doe was beheaded, he was mid-transformation? The hunter cut his head off, but his body became a bat, or a bird. No one would have noticed a bird carcass in the middle of the woods.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles cut her off, and she could hear the excitement in his voice. “We’re all still at the station.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She didn’t even give him a chance to say bye before she hung up and grabbed her coat once more.


	6. Chapter 6

**So it's been a very long time since I updated this, and that's because my life is extremely busy and I travel all the time and I'm the obsessive type, meaning I will obsessively write until I stop writing, and then will obsessively do something else. So I apologize to anyone who really wanted updates, I am the worst kind of fanfic writer, I know! But I already have half the next chapter written so I guess I'm obsessed again. I WILL finish this!**

 

Scott was waiting for her by the entrance to the station, his signature furrowed brow and concerned expression tempting an eye roll out of her. She’d changed out of her work shirt, now wearing a baggy tee that she’d found in her car.

“Lydia, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, and she was instantly warmer. Scott’s wolf hugs always seemed to envelop her, and it was then that she fully realised how much she had missed him.

“I’m okay,” Lydia offered in reply, leaving one arm around his waist as they walked to the Sheriff’s office. “I’ve just been so focused on this case. It’s been a tough one, we’ve been stretched pretty thin without Deaton.”

Malia materialised in front of them. “You should have called us sooner.” Her arms were folded firmly in front of her chest, her eyes intense. “You didn’t have to struggle.”

Lydia pursed her lips. Malia’s blunt nature had a habit of sneaking up on her when she was at her most fragile. “We didn’t want to drag you into it if it wasn’t necessary.”

Scott gave Malia a look, then opened the door for them. “Look, it doesn’t matter, let’s just try to work together now.”

Parrish and the Stilinskis were huddled around the desk. The glare from the lamp illuminated every frown line on Stiles’ face as he leaned over it, his eyes scanning the files in front of him. It took him a couple of seconds to lift his head, and when he met her eyes Lydia could see the hurt flicker behind them, even as he looked excited to hear her out. The last time they’d made eye contact was as she was leaving him in bed after refusing to accept that Stiles wanted her, all of her, forever. She shifted uncomfortably, unsure of who to start talking to, and settled on Scott and Malia. Scott was waiting expectantly, Malia looking a little more impatient.

“Well, here’s my theory,” she started, wasting no time, tucking her hair behind her ears and launching into full-Lydia mode. “John Doe is an Aswang. They’re from Filipino folklore, but they’re in the bestiary. They can take many forms, but I’m pretty sure John Doe was the werewolf kind, considering he was clearly recently bitten.”

“His behaviour was erratic,” Stiles cut in, explaining further to Scott and Malia. “He didn’t seem in control of anything. He was a lot like you were when you were first bitten, Scott.”

Scott nodded, processing the information. “Go on,” he prompted Lydia.

“Okay, well I think that another, more experienced Aswang turned this guy, and he couldn’t handle the bloodlust. Aswangs eat children, and he ended up doing just that. He took Lacey from her bed and dragged her into the woods, where he tried to eat her. She struggled, tried to escape, and he ended up stabbing her to keep her quiet.”

“Sounds like a swell guy,” Malia muttered.

“I can add to your theory at this point,” Parrish stated, pulling out his phone. “While I was waiting for you to get here I was looking at Aswangs online. There are so many different types out there, vampires, witches, dog form, pig form, bird form…it seems like hardly any of them are actually real, but I found an article that made me double take.” He tapped his screen a couple of times, and then handed the phone to Malia before turning to Lydia and Scott. “The Filipino folklore talks about protection from Aswangs, because they’re so good at disguising themselves. They look like normal people during the day.”

Lydia nodded eagerly, her feet rooted to the floor. They were so close to actually _getting somewhere_ , and it felt exhilarating.

Malia looked up from the article on his phone. “It says here they give their children bracelets for protection. What was it you found in John Doe’s mouth?”

“A bead,” Lydia breathed, her mind reeling.

“A bead,” Parrish repeated, nodding. “Lacey must have been wearing a bracelet to protect her. That must have been why he stopped long enough for her to try to get away.”

“Wait,” Scott held up both his hands. “If she already had protection, then that means her family know about the supernatural. They were already afraid of Aswangs.”

“Exactly.” Stiles put his hands on the desk in front of him, looking at Lydia. She let herself sigh with relief, knowing they finally had a lead. “Which means we should be having a conversation with Mr. Tunning right now, because he definitely hasn’t been telling us the truth.”

“What about the hunter? The other bloodthirsty son of a bitch in this equation?” Malia asked, eyes wide. “Do you have any leads on that yet?”

“No,” the sheriff sighed, his frustration showing. “Stiles is gonna go speak to Mr. Tunning and try to get some information out of him. Maybe he knows who is behind the death of John Doe. He could be protecting someone.”

“He could be protecting himself,” Malia replied. “He could be the hunter you’re looking for.”

“He definitely has motive,” Scott agreed.

“I’ll come with you,” Lydia offered, feeling for the first time that they were heading forward, towards a closed case.

Stiles glanced up at her, and she noticed how dark his stubble was. She wondered when he’d last shaved, or showered for that matter. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replied, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes, it is,” Lydia snapped, her anger flaring. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but this was _their_ investigation. He’d dragged her into the woods for this, and now he was denying her access like she was a stranger. “I should be there and you know it.”

“Lydia, for once, just do what I ask and don’t make it difficult,” Stiles bit back, suddenly very angry as well. There was a collective intake of breath around the room that everyone seemed to sense.

“I’m as much a part of this as you, Stiles. You can’t just cut me out of the investigation.” She wanted to help, and Stiles was just going to have to get over himself and forget what had happened between them over the last couple of days. “Tell me literally _any_ other place I’d be more useful.”

But Stiles didn’t seem to budge, his hands still splayed firmly across the table, his voice like a blade in the thick tension. “I’m in charge of this case, and I say you’re not coming.”

The room fell into a prickly silence as they glared at each other.

Malia was the first to speak. “You guys stink of frustration.”

Scott coughed uncomfortably, his hand covering his mouth, and Lydia could swear he was smirking behind it.

“Fine,” Lydia gave in. “Then what would you have me do instead, Detective?” she asked sharply, lacing her voice with as much ice as she could muster. If Stiles wanted to invite Cold Bitch Martin to the party, she could sure as hell dig her out of her closet. She’d spent enough years perfecting her in high school. Reassuming that role was like riding a bike – she would never forget.

She could swear she saw him flinch, but she wasn’t completely sure. After all, they lived together now. Stiles had dealt with all of her personalities over the years, and knew this one very well. He no longer fell at her feet when she was being a brat like he used to at school. He looked her square in the eye and told her to stop being so ridiculous. Sometimes he told her to _get over herself_ or _stop being so spoiled_ or even a plain old _fuck off, Lydia._ She liked that one the most.

Stiles pursed his lips. “You’ll stay here and fill Scott in on all the details of the case. Malia can come with me. I might need her…persuasive nature, if it comes to it.”

Malia smirked and cracked her knuckles, eliciting a sharp look from him. “If it _comes to it_ , Malia.”

Lydia refused to huff, she was a grown woman and wouldn’t show that she was unreasonable. Stiles had very good reasons for his decisions, and it was also perfectly acceptable for him to be angry at her for recent events. After all, over the last couple of days, she’d kissed him up against a tree, undressed him, almost had sex with him, slept in his bed, let him spoon her, and then rejected him. _Wow, okay_ , she thought as those thoughts fully came to her attention. _Lydia Martin, you really are a complicated woman._

So she said nothing, and watched with her mouth set into a thin line as Stiles and Malia pulled away in the squad car.

She and Scott ended up back at their apartment, where Lydia could fix them something to eat and offer him a comfortable couch before she filled him in on the week’s events. They sat side by side in silence for some time, eating mac and cheese and relishing the energy it gave them. Scott seemed a little tired, but he had nothing on her. Lydia felt like her body was a skin that had become too big for her, and she was a shrunken version of herself trapped inside, waiting to shed. As she ate and drank a soda she felt herself expand somewhat, and finally she was ready to talk.

She told him about the severed head, and the dead girl, and everything in between. Scott listened with rapt attention, occasionally letting a hint of disgust pass over his features but otherwise remaining extremely passive as the information washed over him. This was what Lydia had missed, without even realising it – Scott’s unquestionable calm when everything was going batshit crazy, his composed demeanour and quiet energy that soothed her to her bones. She imagined that was what made him and Malia so good together. She was passionate and occasionally hostile, but one look from his puppy dog eyes could calm the wolf in her in an instant.

“Are you okay, Lyds?” his voice sounded from a distance, cutting through her thoughts. “You seem so lost in your head.”

She blinked at him, surprised. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Sorry, this case…it’s just got me going crazy.”

She felt Scott’s warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s not just the case, is it?”

Her eyes slid slowly over to him, afraid of what she might see. A smirk, a barely contained laugh, maybe? Or even worse – judgement? She knew Scott was talking about Stiles, but she also knew he was his best friend, and had picked Stiles up numerous times after her rejections. She wouldn’t blame him if he asked her right now, never to touch Stiles again.

But there was only open curiosity, and an invitation for her to speak.

“What do you mean?” she asked, but it came out weak and stupid. She knew, and he knew she knew. He raised his eyebrows, staring at her.

She sighed. “Okay, yeah, we may have caused a small scene back at the station.”

Scott held up his thumb and forefinger, leaving about a centimeter of space between them. “A small one,” he responded, the first smirk threatening to break through. She considered hitting him, but knew she would only succeed in damaging her own fist, so decided against it.

“Well, last night, while we were investigating, we kinda…kissed.”

“Wait,” Scott held his hand up, obviously baffled by this information. “You guys have never kissed?”

“We kissed in the locker room at school when we were like, sixteen. But other than that, of course not.”

“You guys have been living together for years now, and nothing has ever happened between you?” Scott seemed genuinely dumbfounded. “I thought you’d have had sex…multiple times, by now.”

Lydia recoiled, aghast. “ _Scott_!” she cried, simultaneously humiliated and horrified. “What are you _talking_ about?”

Scott finally grinned, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Lydia, come on. Everyone knows you two are hot for each other! We all just thought, you know. Moving in together, it was bound to result in some steamy, late night, need-to-get-it-out-of-your-system screwing.”

She really did hit him then, and it did hurt her fist. A lot.

After he had stopped laughing, he took the knuckles she was nursing between his hands and relieved her pain, giving her apology eyes. “I deserved that pain, not you,” he explained, draining it out of her. Annoyingly, he didn’t even blink as he took it from her. He could have at least _pretended_ it hurt.

“Well, we were never like that,” Lydia finally countered, finding her voice again. “We had a lot more respect for each other than you guys might think.”

“I’m not talking about respect, I’m talking about attraction,” Scott said earnestly, keeping her hand in his. “I know you two love each other as friends. Stiles loves you as much as he loves me. He would never disrespect you in any way.” Scott paused. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to have sex with you. Hell, I’m practically his brother. We went through puberty together. Trust me, I know he wants to have sex with you. He has done since he knew what it was.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “That was years ago, can we please stop bringing it up? Yes, Stiles had a crush on me, yes, I wasn’t interested, change the damn record. We’re adults now, not horny teenagers.” But even as she said it, the memory of Stiles hoisting her onto the table, tearing off her sweater as she moaned into his mouth, clouded her vision. Not to mention her extremely vivid dreams. Maybe there was _some_ truth to what Scott was saying.

“Malia and I act like horny teenagers all the time!” Scott chuckled, a full laugh sounding its way up his throat when he saw the way Lydia screwed up her face. “We do. We’re part animal, it’s literally in our blood. We should be embracing it while it’s still like this, Lydia. We’ll be old or dead soon. Don’t you want to just let go of the fear, for once?”

He was looking at her so openly, it was hard not to smile. “I can’t seem to let go Scott, that’s the problem. I can’t let him close, I’m afraid we’ll break, or I’ll break him. And the case…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“Lydia, for once, be your old, selfish self.” They both grinned at that. “You can solve a case and still do what makes you happy. And I’m not talking about sex here, I’m talking about not feeling guilty over a damn kiss.” Scott cocked his head towards her expectantly. “Was it good?” he asked.

She nodded bashfully. Then, more confidently, “better the second time. He put me on the table and ripped my sweater off.”

Finally, Scott was silent, and Lydia couldn’t have been smugger if she’d tried.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles and Malia returned after only a few hours, triumphant and energized. They had been to the station to inform the necessary people of what they’d uncovered, and now sat on the couch in the apartment, Lydia nursing a tea and the others cracking open their respective beers. Stiles had finally called it a day and changed into sweats and a tee, his cap on his head to keep the hair at bay. Lydia liked it when he was like this, it made him look young and innocent, like he didn’t have the responsibilities he did. Also, he was hot in sweatpants.

“Okay guys, listen up,” Stiles announced, placing his beer on the table. “We went to the Tunning residence and it turns out we were right, Mr. Tunning does know about Aswangs, but he’s not supernatural and nor was Lacey.”

“This is Beacon Hills, sometimes people who don’t necessarily have anything to do with us can find out about us,” Scott said, shrugging. “It happened all the time at school, and they were just kids.”

“I envy the people who never suspect a thing,” Lydia sighed, taking a sip of her chamomile. “Ignorance is bliss around here.”

“You can’t escape it if you’re a harbinger of death I’m afraid,” Malia said, putting her hand on Lydia’s shoulders. Lydia grinned at her from behind her mug.

“Anyway,” Stiles continued, and he still hadn’t looked at her since he returned. “It was Lacey’s mother who seemed to be the knowledgable one, but she left when Lacey was a baby. Turns out, she was a hunter. Her code forbade having children with people who weren’t connected to the supernatural.”

“So she’s got to be our hunter,” Malia finished, looking around the room with wide eyes. “Right? It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“It does seem extremely likely,” Lydia replied, nodding. “And totally possible. She left because of her code, but she always kept tabs on her family. When Lacey died she would have hunted the Aswang all night until she found him.”

“So she’s still here, she must be,” Scott added, brow furrowed. “Has she visited her old home, been in contact with Mr. Tunning?”

Stiles shook his head. “He said he hasn’t seen her, but he could be lying.”

“He wasn’t lying,” Malia replied. “I would have heard it in his heartbeat, and it was steady as a rock.”

“Okay,” Lydia sighed, placing her free hand on her temple, “so we have a working theory, at least. A pretty solid one. When Lacey was a baby, her mother left her and her husband because of her code as a hunter. Cut to eight years later and Lacey is killed by an Aswang, which forces her mother back into town to kill him.” She paused, her fingers lightly massaging the scalp around her ear. That was where her headaches always started.

The room was silent, everyone aware that she was thinking and never to interrupt when this happened.

“What I don’t understand yet,” she continued, “is why they were so vigilant against Aswangs in particular? The beaded bracelet was to keep Aswangs away, nothing else. If it was given to her, clearly by her mother, then that means she knew Lacey could be in danger. But why from this species of supernatural in particular?”  


“We don’t know what kind of hunter she is, that’s the problem.” Stiles responded, and it was the first time he’d actually addressed her. They looked at each other. “She’s not an Argent, or one of the Calaveras. According to Chris there are no other hunters operating in this area.”

“There _has_ to be, otherwise there’s no way the time frame works,” Lydia replied, and she’d missed this, bouncing ideas off each other almost aggressively. Yeah, okay, Stiles wasn’t happy with her, but this feeling of drawing to a conclusion in the case – it’s what she relished, what she lived for. It was excitement and energy and relief and pride, all rolled into one. Sometimes she didn’t sleep after they’d solved a case. She couldn’t.

“She’s right, the only way Lacey’s mother could have gotten to John Doe so quickly is if she was in the area. I think she’s been here the whole time, keeping an eye on them.” Scott fished for his phone. “I’m gonna call Chris again.” He rose from the couch and went into the kitchen.

Malia cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well, I’m gonna go shower, because being naked helps me think better, so…” she trailed off, leaving the room. Stiles watched her go, his face crinkled in a mixture between distaste and amusement, before turning his gaze to Lydia. She was holding a smile tight between her lips.

The atmosphere thickened again, and Lydia shifted uncomfortably. “Stiles…”

“Please don’t, Lydia,” he murmured, getting to his feet. “I can’t deal with the case and… _this_ …right now.” He walked to the door leading to their bedrooms, and she watched him wordlessly, thinking he might be leaving, but then he turned back. “I’m getting my laptop, we need to do more research on hunters.”

He left the room, leaving Lydia to furiously blink back tears. She closed her eyes briefly, then settled back into the couch. She had really done it this time. She’d finally fucked things up with him, and it looked like it wasn’t going to change any time soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles had been tapping away at his keyboard for hours now, to no avail. They were no closer to finding the group of hunters, and Chris still had no further information. Lydia and Malia sat patiently while the boys bounced ideas off each other, but there was no proof, and it seemed like, at least for tonight, they should stop.

Eventually Stiles snapped the laptop shut, rubbing at his eyes and admitting defeat. They had still made progress with the case, and had plenty of theories. For now, everyone just wanted to take some time off.

While Stiles helped Scott and Malia set up a makeshift bed in the living room, Lydia returned to her room. She used a face wipe to remove the traces of make-up still clinging to her face, the last couple of days seeming to come off with it. Sighing with relief when her skin was clean again, she smiled in the mirror at her rosy cheeks. She was thinking about what Scott had said earlier, about attraction. When it all boiled down to it, everything was pretty straightforward. Scott was right. She and Stiles loved each other, but they _were_ also hot for each other. That pretty much _was_ a relationship. The only thing missing was her acceptance of it all.

And Stiles had already confessed his feelings to her. He’d told her he wanted her, all of her. Why had she walked away?

In the deepest recesses of her heart, she knew why. Aiden had died, and Jackson had left her in Beacon Hills. Many more fleeting relationships had followed in college, but nothing substantial. She may have had her pick of men back in the day, but they certainly never seemed to stick around. Stiles scared her. He was still here, and what if that changed? Maybe she would be too needy sometimes, or too argumentative, and he would just go. One day she’d wake up and he’d be gone, like all the others. That’s what she was afraid of. Stiles was a part of her, he’d made her who she was, he’d saved her life a million times and was the only reason she was still here, now. Since she was sixteen he’d always been there to dry her tears, laugh at her jokes and stare at her legs with that dumb expression on his face. Without Stiles, she wasn’t Lydia.

She was scared to let him in, because if she lost him, well…she couldn’t even imagine.

Still, Stiles wasn’t like any of the guys she had been with before. He didn’t stand out in a crowd, he wasn’t a ‘hottie’. He was kind and loyal, and the least cocky guy she had ever met. He was sarcastic and self-deprecating, but also funny and warm. He wasn’t chiselled or particularly ripped, but Lydia could look at his face for hours, at his dimples, the way he licked his lips, the flecks of green in his eyes. And his body…well, she definitely thought about that all the time. The ripple of his muscles under his tee when he opened a can for her or the line of his shoulders when he was hunched over his paperwork. His hands, and how big they seemed compared to hers, how long his fingers were, how much she wanted them on her face or her waist.

She was fascinated by her average, unremarkable roommate, and that was how she knew she had it bad for Stiles Stilinski.

She padded out of her room, towel in hand, just as Stiles was coming out of his. He didn’t look angry or disappointed to see her, he just looked tired. “Hey,” he offered, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I think Scott and Malia have put a movie on.”

“You’re definitely done with work for the night?” she asked, a pointed look on her face.

He shrugged, one arm behind his head, yawning. “I’m pretty much useless right now. No point in trying to work the mush inside my head I call my brain.”

She nodded, swallowing thickly. “I’m just about to shower.” She bit her lip, wanting to say more, wanting to apologize for everything. Wanting to say _hey, sorry I messed you around so much, but I’m actually so fucking scared of getting hurt because my last boyfriend died and the one before him left me high and dry. All I want in this world is to be your girlfriend, so can we start again?_

But her nerves got the better of her, and she couldn’t bring herself to say anything other than, “what movie?”

“Some horror I think,” he replied. “I’m not really as invested as they are.”

Lydia nodded. “It’s hard to be interested when our lives are scarier than that pretty much every other month.”

There was an awkward silence, the sound of the TV floating into the space between them. Stiles cleared his throat. “Well, I better go join them.”

He moved to push past her, but she caught his wrist lightly. “Stiles,” she said, not sure if she was asking him a question or stating a fact. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to go, she wanted to press up against him and feel his warmth, to be comforted by his presence and his jokes and the smile he reserved only for her. Lately their relationship had been so cold and distant, the back and forth they always took part in long forgotten. Lydia couldn’t _stand_ it.

Stiles looked down at her hand, surprise and a hint of suspicion on his face. But Lydia could see something else there, too. She could see want, and when he turned his gaze up to her she could see the internal battle going on behind his eyes. All of a sudden their fighting, both with themselves and each other, seemed so unbelievably pointless.

Her grip still loose around his wrist, Lydia stood on her toes and brushed her lips against Stiles’, holding her breath. It was a light and unsteady kiss, her nerves getting the better of her. All their other kisses had been so passionate and unthinking, but this was different. She just wanted him to know how she felt, and right now she missed him. She loved him.

He responded slowly to the kiss, mouth half open in dazed astonishment as Lydia’s free hand rested gently on his chest. She only removed her grip from his wrist when he turned his hand and found her fingers with his, interlocking them at their waists as he kissed her back, tentatively, like he was taking in every curve of her lips and committing it to memory. She let out a shaky breath when he pulled away slightly, one hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards. In a second he had taken total control over her, capturing her mouth in his once more, and she was elated that he wasn’t pushing her away this time. They had both finally given in.

It was the softest, most romantic kiss she’d ever had, and her lips felt like they were numb and on fire at the same time. She’d never had a chance to really relish the moment like this with Stiles – everything always moved so fast with them – but there in their shared hallway, time could have stopped.

She pulled away first, eyes cast downward, her forehead against his chin. “I’m sorry, about this morning,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry for any other time I’ve treated you badly or made you think I don’t want you. I don’t even deserve your friendship, but…” She finally glanced up, amazed to find that his eyes were wide and unguarded. He looked as terrified as she felt. “I do want you. Since I was seventeen I’ve wanted you to tell me everything you told me this morning.” The words were spilling out now. “I’m more scared of getting hurt than I let people think, and you’re the one person I think could actually break me.”

Stiles was staring at her, dumbfounded. He showed no signs of talking, so she continued, unsure of the last time she had remembered to take a breath. “I’m probably too late after this morning, and I know I’m a nightmare with high standards and a short temper and a know-it-all attitude, but I just want you to know. I definitely, definitely want you, Stiles, and not having you, even as a friend, is killing me right now.”

She stopped, breathed, and dared to meet his eyes, letting go of his hand. Her fingers were clammy, and the space she had just freed in her heart was now flooding with self-doubt at an alarming speed as she watched Stiles stare at her, seemingly frozen between a state of bewilderment and gradual understanding. Still, he said nothing.

“Anyway,” she blurted out, panicking, “I’m gonna leave you to process that in your own time, while I shower. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

She turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind her and collapsing against it, her eyes fluttering closed and a groan rumbling from her chest all the way into her mouth.

Well, there was no going back now. She had laid her feelings out on the line the way he had this morning, and she couldn’t take it back even if she wanted to, which she didn’t.

Turning the water on, Lydia quickly undressed, desperate to get under the hot spray and wash away her doubts. As the water hit her skin, she considered the last couple of days, and the toll they had taken on her and Stiles. They had come out of worse, and they would beat this too, even if it was just as friends. Maybe Stiles would decide he _did_ want them to be together, and maybe he would put his foot down and say he was done with her bullshit. Lydia really didn’t know. For now, she just wanted to let the steam open her pores and lather herself in soap, enjoying her escape from reality.

It didn’t last long. She froze when she heard the bathroom door open, ready to scream at whoever it was, and peered around the shower curtain.

It was Stiles, he had removed his hat, and he looked considerably less confused than he was ten minutes ago. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

“Stiles!” Lydia hissed, pulling the curtain all the way up to her neck. “Get out!”

He held up his hands. “Sorry, I know this breaks all our pre-arranged house rules about boundaries, but I needed to come in, I couldn’t wait until you got out. You always take _so long_ in the shower.”

Lydia was extremely aware of how naked she was, her wet hair sticking to her neck and the steam clouding the bathroom, starting to dampen Stiles’ hair as he gazed apologetically at her. “I thought about what you just said, in the hallway.” Little beads of condensation were now forming on his forehead.

“Okay,” Lydia countered, drawing the word out. She considered kicking him out, telling him to wait a goddamn second until she was clothed and dry, but curiosity won her over in the end. She didn’t want to stew over it any longer. “And?”

He was studying her, his face measured as he mulled something over. Then, to Lydia’s alarm, he reached behind his head with both arms and grasped the material of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

Lydia watched him cast his shirt to the side, her mouth hanging open like something out of a cartoon, half in shock and half admiring the naked torso and sweatpants combination. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice timid rather than indignant, because she knew exactly what he was doing, and it terrified and thrilled her at the same time.

Stiles shrugged, looking a little scared himself. “I’m levelling the playing field. Doesn’t seem right for only one of us to be naked, especially since I’m the one who walked in on you.” He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his sweats and pushed them down, stepping out of them. “Is that okay?” he asked, glancing up at her, now only in his boxers.

Lydia closed her mouth and nodded wordlessly.

“Okay then,” Stiles said, and he took a step towards her. For a moment they were both motionless, the air heavy with steam and with the gravity of the situation. Then Stiles removed the final piece of his clothing, kicking the boxers to one side. He gave her a lopsided grin. “I feel like this is a good time to tell you that I really, really want you too Lydia. In every sense of the word.”

Every inch of her body sighed with relief. He had said _yes._ Not only had he said yes, but he was now completely naked in front of her. And she was still behind the shower curtain, which seemed a little unfair. She cast her eyes over his body, excitement coursing through her veins. “Good,” she breathed. “Um…do you, erm...” She cleared her throat. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Stiles responded immediately, eliciting a giggle from her. She opened the curtain and let him step inside, relishing the way he raked his gaze over her body, mouthing silent curses. The spray instantly soaked him, his hair plastered messily over his forehead, and for a moment Lydia wasn’t even turned on. She was just completely in love with him.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, and before she knew it his were around her waist, his head resting on her shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear, water dripping down her face.

He smiled into the side of her neck. “I love you Lydia. But my sixteen year old self is screaming obscenities in my brain right now, so you’re gonna have to _not_ press your naked body up against me if you want me to say anything else romantic.”

Lydia laughed, pulling away to look at his face, her arms locked firmly around his shoulders. “No no, I’m done, Stilinski. You can switch off now.”

“Thank God,” he groaned, and kissed her, pushing her up against the wall, wasting no time in meeting her tongue with his.

There was water in her mouth and her eyes but Lydia was lost, Stiles’ hands rough against her skin as he touched her everywhere. When he kissed down to her collarbone her head lolled back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. His kisses followed the rivulets of water cascading down her chest, teasing the area around her nipples until they were so sensitive she couldn’t bear it, and then he took one into his mouth, sucking on it. “Oh God,” she moaned, loud enough for Stiles to clamp a hand over her mouth. He laughed against her skin, the vibrations making the sensation even better.

She was completely at his mercy, and it was a thousand times better than any of the dreams she’d had. He ran a thumb over her other nipple and down her ribcage, making her shiver and grip him by his wet hair. Then he was kissing her again, and when his hand slipped between her legs, her gasp was drowned in his mouth.

Stiles let out a strangled noise when his fingers met her folds, his tongue pushing harder against hers. “Fuck,” he groaned against her lips, before trailing kisses along her cheek. “You’re so wet.”

Lydia bucked into his hand, closing her eyes briefly. “Well, we _are_ in the shower.”

“Don’t be a know-it-all, Martin,” Stiles chuckled into her ear, biting softly on her earlobe.

“That doesn’t turn you on?”

“I don’t think anything could dampen how horny I am right now, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

Their soft laughter was drowned in the sound of the shower, and Lydia allowed her hands to roam freely over Stiles’ arms and chest before snaking round his back to grab his ass, pulling him flush against her as they made out against the wall, his hardness pressed against her belly. It felt so good to finally be herself around him, to put her hands where she wanted and feel his teeth on her neck and giggle when he did something funny. They were Stiles and Lydia, the same as they had always been, except now they were clinging to each other in a steamy bathroom, impatient and desperate.

Lydia pulled away, putting a finger over Stiles’ lips when he tried to kiss her again. “Take me to your room,” she demanded. “Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. They turned the water off and got out of the shower, Lydia wrapping herself in a towel before Stiles hoisted her into his arms, pecking her quickly on the lips and opening the bathroom door.

The TV was still playing in the other room, Scott and Malia nowhere to be seen. Stiles took one swift look around the hallway and bolted to his room, Lydia giggling in his arms. Once they were through his door, she reached behind her and pushed it shut. Stiles turned and slammed her against it, her towel coming loose as he did so.

They kissed against the door until Stiles couldn’t hold her any more, and then he placed her deftly on the floor, her towel now discarded on the carpet. “Are you sure this isn’t too fast?” he asked, nervously squeezing her waist. “We can wait.”

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for _years_ ,” Lydia muttered, and Stiles grinned at that. “Take me to bed, Stiles.”

She shoved him backwards on to the bed, licking her lips, enjoying his wide eyes and gaping expression. She dropped to her knees, wasting no time with teasing and taking him fully into her mouth.

The noise that escaped Stiles’ lips was barely human. “Holy _fuck_ , Lyd - oh, _Jesus_.” His hand pushed automatically against the back of her head, encouraging her, before he realized what he was doing and stopped, his breathing labored. “Sorry, I didn’t… _shit_ …that was sexist, but, oh…”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, taking him deep into her throat as she did so. Something darkened behind his gaze, and he moaned, letting his head fall back on to the bed. “Lydia, if you don’t stop now this is going to be over very soon.”

Lydia paused, releasing him softly from her mouth. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” She grinned, wiping her lips, and Stiles let out a primal growl, grabbing her by the waist and flipping her on to the bed, trailing his mouth up her thigh as she squirmed in anticipation.

He reached her core, pressing his mouth against it, and she inhaled sharply when she felt his tongue against the bundle of nerves there, and his fingers pushing inside of her. He sucked gently on her clit, humming with pleasure, once again sending vibrations through her. Then, suddenly, the Stiles that she had been dreaming about, the one with the filthy mouth that she thought she’d never experience in reality, came to life.

“Come for me, Lydia,” he murmured, his fingers moving agonisingly slowly. He licked her, licked his fingers, pumped them inside of her again. “Come on. All over my hand.”

“Oh,” she whimpered softly, and arched into him, but he put a hand over her stomach below her belly button and pressed down, applying pressure to her abdomen as he simultaneously curled his fingers inside of her and flicked his tongue.

It was instantaneous, and the orgasm hit her before she knew what was happening. She cried out, unable to stop herself, but Stiles did nothing to quieten her, merely stroking his tongue languidly up her folds and caressing her with his fingers as she came hard, cursing and moaning his name. Her legs were shaking when he finally came up for air, kissing her stomach, her breasts, her cheek and then finally her lips. His mouth was swollen and tasted like her, but she didn’t mind. She was still reeling from the magic that Stiles had just performed between her legs.

“ _Where_ did you learn that?” Lydia asked, breathless. Her eyes were glassy when she eventually tore her gaze from the ceiling and looked at him. “That was incredible, Stiles.”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “Turns out listening is the best way to improve at sex,” he answered. “Who knew.”

Lydia kissed him again. “This is a very good start.”

“Good,” Stiles replied, slightly smug. “Because I’ve got a couple of other things I’d like to show you, if you don’t mind.”

They made love on his bed, the sheets damp with sweat and water from the shower. They whispered to each other in the dark, occasionally laughing, letting out the occasional hushed moan of pleasure. It was slow and unhurried, Stiles taking his time with her, appreciating every part of her body, kissing every part of her skin. Lydia had never made love before, but it was mind-blowing. She wasn’t sure if hours or seconds had passed. As she lay tangled in sheets and limbs, lazily running her fingers over Stiles’ back, ready to go again, she wondered why the hell any of this had seemed like a bad idea in the first place.

And as he nuzzled her neck, nibbling softly at her earlobe in a way that he now knew turned her on almost instantly, Lydia thanked her lucky stars for Stiles Stilinski. She rolled him over, climbing on top of him, unaware of where Scott and Malia were sleeping or what time it was or what they were going to do about the case tomorrow. Whatever happened, it was going to be fine.

Because finally, he was hers, and she was his.


End file.
